


Vanilla Sunshine

by kyokochan



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, F/M, Gabe Saporta - Freeform, High School AU, M/M, Peterick, Peterick Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3200711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyokochan/pseuds/kyokochan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the unlikey event of Patrick Stumpf EVER becoming friends with Pete Wentz there was NO WAY that Pete would develope an all consuming love for him, that would CERTAINLY NOT create even greater problems for both boys. NOT A CHANCE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Pete Admires Patrick's Bilinguality and Patrick Gets a Girl Number

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Welcome to my fic, I hope you enjoy it and I will try to update it regularly!
> 
> This one is for plkw3, to whom I owe an apology- I'm Sorry!
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

It was a drizzly, unremarkable wednesday afternoon that found an equally drizzly, unremarkable Patrick Stumpf, trailing his way through the bleach-linoleum-grease of his school cafeteria.

Also in that cafeteria was one suddenly distracted Pete Wentz, sitting on a tabletop surrounded by a group of ‘I can’t even believe she like, said that!’ and ‘Pete can I come over to yours?’ and even a couple of fart noises, generally coming for Gabe Saporta. Pete’s suddenly interested eye followed the small figure all the way to “Pete are you even listening to me?” beside him.

 “wh- yuhuh,” came Pete’s unconvincing response, making no effort to actually pay attention to the prickly blonde girl who sat on a bench across him. Pete found himself immediately invested in the boy, unable believe that he hadn’t noticed the boy before (well he could; droopy hats and a head held low are not something to be picked out of a crowd) He concluded that he must have been a new student due to the lack of recognition.

Pete watched the unremarkable little person sit at a small table to the side of the room with another boys and two girls too. He recognised one of them as Cassandra Stacey, or ‘Casey Stacey’ as the rest of the school thought seemed to be a fitting nickname for her, although he couldn’t quite place the others.

They all seemed quite excited to see the kid, hugging and exclaiming - they probably knew each other from outside of school, Pete figured.

Desperately, he tried his best to make eye contact with the boy, but to no prevail. Regardless, Pete being Pete, this made no difference to his interest. He wasn’t sure what held his attention, but he could tell that “unremarkable” may not be the best adjective for those tired eyes and nervous smiles. Maybe it was in finding an actual human his age that was shorter than him intrigued him so, but Pete knew he was keen to pursue it.

Whatever it was.

 x

The next time Pete saw The Boy was in his Spanish class on Thursday. Seeing him as he walked into the room, Pete found a strange kind of fuzzy feeling in his cheeks and stomach from seeing The Boy again.

Grateful for the lack of friends in that class, Pete made his way to the back of the room and awkwardly plonked down on the desk next to The Boy before the teacher strode dramatically into the room. Pete didn’t want to say anything to The Boy yet as he seemed sort of nervous, with shifty eyes and tapping feet as the lesson chugged into action.

Pete did, however, almost gleefully notice that The Boy seemed to be gaining interest and confidence as the lesson went by. Pete was shocked at how happy this made him, to see The Boy sort-of-a-little-bit break out of his shell, contributing his seemingly exact Spanish.

To Pete's delight the teacher was setting a partner task to start off the year, and Pete eagerly hoped to be attatched to his new friend for the foreseeable Spanish future. What was not so convenient however, was that he was paired with Percy Murtle, and “Mr Stumpf” (Pete mused over the inconvenience of the last letter) was paired with Susie Wu.

Luckily, Pete "can speak my way out of anything" Wentz knew how to pull some strings and managed to convince Susie to switch with him, but not without losing two pieces of gum on the way.

 “You may pick one topic to work on, and I suggest you discuss and chose a topic with your partner now, or you may be at a loss later on.” With the admission of speech from the teacher, Pete happily turned around to face The Boy and stuck out his hand with a

“Hi! I’m Pete Wentz,”

x

The first thing Patrick noticed about Pete was _eyes, crinkly eyes,_ and _big wide mouth too many teeth_.

Startled, he looked down at the offered hand and gingerly took it.

“Patrick Stumpf. Just Stump is ok too.” Patrick rehearsed for the umpteenth time, although his routinely manor was greeted with something new; he couldn’t help but notice the way Pete’s face seemed to lighten at Patrick’s touch and the mention of his name.

Pete didn’t respond at first, just looked at Patrick with a transfixed expression while their hands were still awkwardly clasped together. Growing sort of uncomfortable Patrick pulled back and said,

“So we’re s’posed to do this Spanish thing together? What topic do you think we should do?”

“Wh- Oh, yeah, sorry” Pete replied sheepishly, withdrawing his own hand too “I dunno, man. I really like food, maybe we could do Spanish foods...is pasta Spanish?” Patrick chuckled and shook his head

“But tortillas are Spanish, tortillas are pretty tasty,” he insured Pete with the same kind of affection you might have with a dog, or a small child.

“That’s true...” Pete agreed “but I’m pretty sure pasta is Spanish...Hey! since the lessons almost over, why don’t you come over to mine after school and we can look it up then?” It was a bold move of Pete, seeing as he had only known the guy for a few moments, and unsurprisingly, Patrick was slightly taken aback.

“uh, Ok, sure...should I...meet you outside after school, or…”

“yeah, great! See you then!” came the sickly over enthusiastic reply.

Shortly after that, the bell went with a “see you ‘round Patrick Stumpf” and a sloppily waved hand, leaving a slightly dazed Pete Wentz and a sort of nervous, sort of weirded out Patrick Stump(f) to go their separate ways until four fifteen that afternoon.

x

When the last bell had gone Pete rushed to get out of Geography, with the sort of strange adrenaline excitement of seeing Patrick again. He grinned into his red and black tie as he scuttled through the hall to his locker, grabbed his hoodie and other affairs then locked it again.

Luckily he managed to avoid any conversation with the various people in the hall (minus an "Oi Gay lord!" From one of the hilariously funny fuckboys in Pete's grade, but at least Pete knew who his father was)

Pete was surprised, however, to find Patrick already outside, waiting sitting on one of the white half-walls.

Over confident and very little to lose, Pete stuck out his elbow as if he were Patrick's escort, tossing him a deceptively charming "Shall we go, Sir?". Patrick kindly declined Pete's offer, definitely preferring to walk unattached to a walking embarrassment hazard. Honestly, he was still pretty unsure about the whole thing.

x

Pete’s mum wasn’t home when they got there, which Pete seemed pretty pleased about, professing that she would make them eat her lasagne (he-said-while-stuffing-green-tea-kit-kats-in-his-face).

Patrick, on the other hand, was scared that without supervision Pete would start bouncing off the walls. From what little interaction they'd hand, Patrick already knew he was a force to be reckoned with.

Instead, Pete took the two of them up to his bedroom; a small, blue space with a single bed covered with a black duvet pressed against one wall. There was a desk with a laptop perching precariously on a pile of school books, also various notepads about it, over flowing onto the floor and desk char. the walls were adorned with a scattering of garish posters screaming “I GLOW IN THE DARK” for bands Patrick had maybe vaguely heard off.

Patrick taking it all in, Pete went to a small stereo on a table in the corner of the room and started playing some metally, screamy composition Patrick half recognised as ‘probably Metallica’.

“Don’t you fuckin love this song?!” Pete cried and dropped to his knees, throwing his fists up above his head. Patrick rolled his eyes at the wild display of teenage emo.

“Aren’t we supposed to be doing the Spanish project? Y’know, the little thing worth half out grade?” he remarked dryly.

“These project things are just an excuse to hang out with your friends and do everything the day before it’s due.” Pete laughed, turning down the music and sitting on his bed in an attempt to make Patrick feel at ease.

“Well, I wanna get a good grade so I’ll make a start. You can” Patrick gestured towards the small stereo “dance, or whatever, I’m ok with working while there’s music playing. I do usually.” (it was usually The Beatles)(never mind). Pete wanted to agree, seeing as that sounded like quite a good option, but Patrick had started fiddling with his tie and he couldn’t stop thinking about grabbing it himself and what possible consequences it might have.

Fortunately the ‘and pasta is definitely Italian’ snapped Pete out of his staring-at-patrick’s-neck-like-a-vampire trance before Patrick probably noticed, and back into secretly-watch-Patrick-while-pretending-to-listen-to-music mode.

Some twenty minutes later, once Pete had cleared (or tried to) his desk and chair of miscellaneous crap, the two of them were well on their way to at least a B. Patrick had been pouring over the blue A3 paper, writing in smooth Spanish, with few mistakes to find.

Once he had finished the first three paragraphs about various foods (with Pete watching him constantl(WITHOUT PETE WATCHING HIM CONSTANTLY)) Pete raised his eyebrows, impressed.

“How’dya get so good at Spanish?” he asked, peering over Patrick’s shoulder.

Patrick shrugged,

“Language just really interests me, like, culture too.... I... traveled around Europe a lot with my dad...th-that’s why I’m new at this school? I’m new?” Pete noticed Patrick beginning to get slightly uncomfortable, but he never really learned

"Oh cool! just your dad or your mom too? Siblings?" Patrick's eyes widened behind his glasses.

After a moment Pete went to talk about something different to try and calm Patrick down but before he could do so Patrick said

“I should really go, I’ve basically finished, you just need to do some drawings or something, y-you can’t do no work, right?” he nervously tried to joke, getting up off the bed.

“You’ve only been here, like, half an hour, why’re you leaving?” Pete asked, quite confused as he got up too.

“My Dad has weird curfew rules? Sorry Pete, But I have to leave, but I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” Patrick insured him as he picked his school bag up and made for the exit.

“You don’t need to come down with me, I’m ok to leave on my own,” Patrick said as he nodded Pete goodbye

“Oh...ok, well tomorrow then,” Pete replied, a little miffed.

Patrick tipped his head in confirmation and left with a hurried “bye Pete!” leaving Pete slightly at a loss.

Although before long his mind was for some reason glossing over the irregularity that just occurred and he found himself unable to fight the same fuzzing that had caught him in Spanish, re-awoken at Patrick’s “I’ll see you tomorrow”.

With a frown, Pete flopped back down onto his bed and curled around his pillow as he heard the front door open and close.

He was so very spectacularly fucked.

x

Patrick's promise was not kept and it was Monday again before they had another conversation, leaving Pete to agonise over Patrick all weekend and why he hadn’t bothered to say hi on Friday.

Monday found them in the noisily packed, confused brown, white, red and black of the Cafeteria. Again we find Patrick Stumpf, who plodding was over to his normal table to the left of the room, when he heard a “HEY PATRICK” way above the noise.

He flinched like he'd been spiked with something sharp, then slowly turned to the cinnamon skinned source of the noise. Patricks dull, tired eyes met Pete’s sparkling, crinkled ones and he was waved over by Pete’s hand. Patrick found he could never really focus on Pete, he had to focus on one part of him at one time- it can’t be _Pete_ , it has to be “Pete’s eyes” or “Pete’s smile”. It was just something about him that was _toomuchtoomuch_ but also an exciting kind of _yesYES_.

Stuck in the awkward medium of standing in a lunch hall, Patrick turned to face Casey already sitting at the aforementioned table. With a tilt of his head he asked her permission to go over and sit with Pete. She smiled and gestured towards Pete’s table with a kind of nod, and with Patrick’s returned smile, she turned back to rejoin the conversation with the others.

It was only when he got over there that Patrick realised how many people there were at Pete’s table- seven, in total, including Pete, not including Patrick. There was LucyKiraMaxBrittanykarl and Gabe, who Patrick kind of knew, who Patrick had definitely heard of. Patrick found his seat next to Kira, across from Pete’s corrugated iron eyes and orange peel smile.

“Hey! Patrick, right? It’s Kira. Pete introduced us?” came the sugary voice next to him.

“Oh, yeah, hi! Patrick Stumpf. Just Stump is ok too.” Kira giggled and Patrick realised that for some reason, most of the table were listening (except for Max and Brittany, who were obviously too busy contouring each other’s teeth to care about the pronunciation of Patrick’s surname). Taking advantage of his audience's attention, Pete leaned into the centre of the table, and in a mock whisper hilariously told everyone

“you have to call him Stump otherwise he gets his grumpy face,” followed by a giggle from Kira, Gabe and Karl and a

“Wha- no I don’t!” From a particularly red Patrick, which induced more hysterical laughter from Gabe. but instead of the expected further prying Patrick got a

“So Patrick, you’re new here, right?” From the same sugary voice to his left. It wasn’t a bad kind of sugary though, like that sort of voice sometimes is, but a more comfortable one, like a hug.

“Y-yep, just came over from Europe in the summer” despite this touchy subject Kira was verging on, Patrick was relieved to find that Gabe and Karl were gradually drifting into their own conversation, and Pete was, well Pete was half in Gabe and Karl’s conversation and half nonchalantly staring at Patrick talking(although to Patrick’s ignorance).

“Europe? cool. So how long were you there for? Do you know how to speak European? How come you came back? wait- how come you have an american accent?” Patrick inwardly chuckled at Kira’s interest in him, she kind of reminded him of Pete, except darker and less crinkled.

“Yeah, Europe. My dad, my brothers and I were there for about 3 three years. We traveled around a lot because of my dad’s work, but he found a stable job here, so that’s why we moved back. And yes, I know how to speak _some_ European languages. Let’s see, uh, French, German, Spanish, Italian - kinda - Latvian and Japanese.” Patrick told her proudly, finding himself oddly comfortable with Kira (Pete, again), and wasn’t really that stressed when telling her about his Europe experience

“cool, cool. Wait is Japan in Europe?” She frowned ( _petepetePETE_ )

“uh, sure,” Patrick said affectionately.

“Patrick you’re SO cool!” Kira announced rather loudly, half drawing the attention of the non-make-out part of the table to the recently privatised conversation “I have to go now, but here’s my number. Call me!” She instructed with a wink, leaving Patrick a small piece of paper, a wolf whistle from Gabe Saporta and a kind of confused-slash-upset frown from Pete Wentz. Despite his swirly whirly head, Patrick pocketed the paper and stood up.

“It was great to meet you guys, I hope I’ll see you round.” He told them and abruptly walked away, but not with out one lingering look from Pete, following Patrick towards the exit. Gabe, being aware of the gravity of the situation (because Pete could never keep anything secret ever) leaned over to Pete’s confused face

“Dude,” he said, looking after Patrick “you’re fucked.”


	2. In which Pete and Patrick go on a pizza date and certain people have conflicting views

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may or may not be offended by this chapter if you are Christian, sorry! I hope it isn't that bad...
> 
> I feel like this is a bit of a filler chapter, not much happens, but hey-ho, wait til next time for thicker stuff ;)

Pete clenched his fists. After having gotten a hold of himself, mentally slapping himself in the face and consulted his best relationships Guru. Something had to be done

“I mean, I can’t just let him go out with her; I liked him first! And plus, I thought she was hung up over me? Didn't she ask me out, like, last week? Gabe?” Pete was spewing in Gabe’s direction with little response. Gabe sighed, finally drawing his attention to the poor boy close to giving himself an asthma attack

“Look, Pete, you’re my bro, and I love you, but you need. To calm. Your tits.” Well, Gabe had clearly been listening that whole time and not been playing Crossy-Road on his phone ("I amlost tied my highscore!")

“Oh, I love you too, Gabe,” Pete smiled, sarcastically sweet. “Once again you have helped me fix my problem by a grand total of zero percent,” Pete whinged, knocking into a small, peanut scented girl on his angry tangent to the front door “So, as per usual, I will have to fix this problem on my own. Good bye and fuck you.” he finished.

Honestly, he had been going for a slightly better reaction than a clicky tongue noise and hand pistol, followed by a swift departure from an ever rewarding best-friend.

When Gabe was out of sight Pete dropped his proud stature with a sigh and rubbed his eyes. He wanted to do something about his Patrick Stump Situation, and knew if anything was to be done, he need to be in there before Kira could say "wait, Stump or Stumpf?". With finality, Pete made the decision to ask Patrick out  _right now_.

Well. Maybe he didn't have the guts to ask him out, but  _hanging_ out was half way there, right?

But, as is the norm, the best laid plans of mice and men do often go astray and (unsurprisingly) not everything went as desired.

“Hey Patrick, wait up!” Pete called as he trotted down the front steps. Patrick swivelled around and met Pete a with an pleasantly surprised smile- good start “hey Patrick, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out? I know this really good pizza- “

“Oh, sorry, Pete, but I can’t tonight” Pete stopped, staring at Patrick with wide-eyed shock and childish disbelief. His master plan had been dashed to pieces before it had even begun.

“O-ok, but what about...uh, tomorrow? Is tomorrow ok?” Pete tried to cling to the last hope he had of him and Patrick working out, and keep his last shred of dignity.

“No, Pete, I can’t do tomorrow either,” Patrick said with a sort of sigh, a slight eye roll. Pete frowned, refusing to ask him any other day for the sake of that last shred, which was threatening to cut itself off at any moment. He nodded shortly, earning a small smile from Patrick and a nod, then watched as his most greatly desired hurried out of the school gates. Pete stood there at the bottom of the steps for a while, not really feeling anything, the confused frown on his face not really changing. He wasn't really sure _why_ he was so shaken by Patrick's rejection, but for some reason unknown to Pete, he was. He supposed it was becuase he had such high expectations for Patrick, and they had just plummited to rock-bottom. He stood for a good minute until Gabe came up behind him and slapped him on the back

“What are you, in love with this guy? You've known him for less than, like, a week.” And that was all the condolences that Pete got. He felt heat start to swirl and storm in his stomach and anger bubbling inside his mind, itching to get out. He was furious. Furious that Patrick was busy. Furious Kira liked him. Furious that his feelings for Patrick weren't reciprocated. Furious that Gabe wasn't cooing over him like a protective mother. Furious that his hair was black. Furious that his grandmother was 79. Furious that puppies had four legs and he only had two- It really wasn't fair.

  
x

 

“Ugh! I don’t know! like, she’s really nice, and pretty, and stuff, but I haven’t dated anyone since thething and...I don’t _know_ ,” Patrick was laying face down on his bed, the rim of his hat squashed beneath his forehead, trying his best not to groan continuously, as his best friend and life-long comrade, Casey, sat on the edge, frowning down at the mess of a boy.

“Well, she clearly likes you, I mean, she wouldn’t have asked you out otherwise,” She stated, lightly tapping Patricks head in a commanding fashion

“She didn’t ask me out…” Patrick sighed into his pillow childishly, in a could-be-subtler way to avoid a response, but Casey just rolled her eyes,

“Sure, ok so not directly, but that Pete boy definitely did. I think you should go for it!” Casey joked, walking her fingers up his back.

“Dude,” Patrick said angrily, brushing her hand of and sitting up “Pete’s not gay. And neither am I, so, shut up.”

“Woah, dude, it was a joke, there’s no need to be so high strung about it. Why you gotta be so judgemental anyway?” she replied, somewhat stung.

“Look, you know how I feel, how my dad feels, and I- I, look I don’t want to go into this right now,” Patrick sighed “And Pete  _didn't_  ask me out...” he added as a childish after-thought, more to himself than to Casey as he flopped back onto the light blue linen. Casey sighed softly and slid down the side of his bed until she was sitting on the floor. She was joined in her retired position by Patrick, who stared off vacantly into the opposite window. They stayed there for a few moments in comfortable silence, with some unspoken companionship they always seemed to share. After a few moments Casey turn and looked into Patrick’s eyes with an unhappy sort of smile, (for assurance? closure? dignity?) tears threatening to run down her cheeks,

“I’m glad you’re back, Patrick”

 

x

 

Tuesday breezed past with little incident, Pete mainly trying to avoid Patrick but also see as much of him as possible, although this was hard since Patrick hung out with Kira for most of the non-lesson day, and besides, it wasn't good for Pete to be so stressed anyway, so when it was Wednesday afternoon again, Pete was slightly taken a-back to find a small blond boy with a red and white baseball cap apparently waiting for him outside school.

“So...you said about the pizza place.”

 

“What even is “I heart bingo” anyway?” Pete giggled as he flounced along the pale grey pavement, lined with floaty green trees. Patrick shrugged and rolled his eyes, walking a few feet behind Pete’s bouncy figure with his hands in his pockets.

“Hey, this is the place!” Pete announced proudly, flinging out a hand towards a big red sign shouting “Pizza Pizza!”, not too bothered by Patrick’s lack of apparent response. Patrick followed Pete inside to a booth next to the left side window and sat down opposite each other with a slight thud. Pete leaned on the table with elbow, his chin in his hand, as if he were interviewing Patrick, completely forgetting his anger and confusion of the previous days with a wild grin on his face.

“So Patrick,” he started “tell me about you.” _So apparently this_ is _an interview_ Patrick thought, amused, again, he wasn't as nervous about talking about his past as he was before

“Well, I grew up here, I guess, but we moved away when I was fourteen and travled around Europe. I also have three younger brothers, uh, Spencer, Karl and Alf. Alf has a- My dad’s a pastor, at St Patrick’s Road Church,  and I guess that’s why I'm Patrick, so, yeah.” Pete cocked his at Patrick’s slight falter, but he knew it would be best if he didn't say anything.

“Oh, that’s cool! So your dad's a pastor. Are you guys religious, or,” Pete tried to move the conversation swiftly on, although he was still fairly curious about the blunder.

“Uh, yeah, I guess. Aren't you? We go to a catholic school after all,” Patrick thought that everyone who went to catholic school was christian. He could understand if they weren't catholic (after all, he wasn't himself a catholic) but christian, at least. Pete shook his head with an innocently amused sort of expression on his face

“I actually find it all sort of ludicrous, to be honest,” Pete continued “A big man in the sky that can do anything and a book that you have to follow exactly that was written by the ghost of a magical story teller. It's just...unrealistic!” Patrick just sat there in silence for a few moments, with his mouth slightly open and his eyebrows knitted together ( ~~It was actually kind of hot~~ )

“Oh, s-sorry, I’ve offended you, haven’t I?” Pete apologised, concerned.

“What? No, It’s interesting to see other people’s opinions.” Patrick assured him, and Pete let out an internal sigh of relief. _At least Patrick isn't an asshole christian...probably._

“So you're religious...how do feel about y’know, LGBTQ stuff?” Patrick raised an eyebrow and leaned back into the sofa thing

“Well, one of my best friends, Louis, is actually non-binary, I mean, when I first met xem I guess I didn't know much about that stuff but xe helped me y’know, understand more, and plus I don’t think there’s anything in the bible about gender stuff I think, so I'm really pro trans rights and stuff.” Pete sat back, relieved at Patrick's acceptance,

“But gay people are-”

“Whaddya want, guys?” they were interrupted by a tallish Waitress standing at the end of their table, one hand on hip, the other with a notebook, and a pen tucked into her 80’s style black hair.

“oh shit, yeah,” Pete remembered as he picked up the red and white menu and scanned over his options. The waitress chewed on her bright red clad lips while she waited for the pair to decided. In all the excitement of food, Pete, after they ordered, forgot about Patrick’s ‘but gay people are’ and smoothly continued onto his next topic of interest.

“So you were getting pretty friendly with Kira the other day, weren’t you? Are you guys going out or something now?” He asked, trying to be as pleasant as he could.

“Uh, yeah! Well, we’ve never been on  an actual date because I’ve been quite busy over the last two days, and today obviously, but, yeah, I think, I think I might ask her out on the weekend? Yeah,” Having been in a bit of a conflict before, Patrick made up his mind about whether he wanted to date Kira there and then, and he can’t say that he wasn't pleased with his decision. But Pete couldn't feel the same and he felt his heart clench up sadly.

“Ya know she’s a total bitch, right,” He just couldn’t help himself, the temptation was too great, but he knew from the disgruntled expression on Patrick’s face that it wasn't the right thing to do

“What the hell? why would you say that?” Patrick was mainly just confused above anything else and Pete’s stomach immediately started twisting in circles. he felt the little voice in his head tap on brain and say _“well why the_ fuck _did you say that?”_.

Patrick didn't even think it was that bad, it was just the principle of him saying something like that, and Pete’s gradually increasing look of shame and regret encouraging him to give him a reason to look that way.

“I- I'm sorry Patrick, she’s not, I- fuck,” Pete whined. Patrick’s face softened at Pete's discomfort, realising that they were both probably overreacting.

“It’s alright, man,” He told Pete, doing that little thing with his mouth that made Pete weak in the knees, where he screwed it up into a kind of retired smile. Their food came shortly after that and they ate mostly in silence (mainly because Pete was gulping his down like a hungry wolf who hadn't eaten for two weeks) and Patrick had only eaten about two slices of his when pete’s plate was clean.

“Are you gonna finish that?” Pete asked as he leaned over and ripped the crust off Patrick’s current piece of pizza (out of his mouth, just so you know) and shoved the whole four inches in his mouth, taking another piece off Patrick’s plate and eating it with a childishly proud twinkle in his eyes. Patrick looked at him with the most done look Pete thought he’d even seen, which fuled Pete further and he giggled around the squishy mess in his mouth.

“Gross.” Patrick told him affectionately, not able to help a similar twinkle in his own eye.

 

x

 

When they were done and had said thank you to Lilla (“Really? You remembered her name?” “What? It’s rewarding when people call you by your name. Trust me, I worked here over the summer.”) Pete and Patrick were stood outside the restaurant in the drizzly rain, opposite each other, each having to go their separate ways.

“I had fun, thanks Pete,” Patrick smiled, but Pete just stared adoringly at the way Patrick’s hair drooped into his face, curling round slightly from the moisture. The way his eyes sparkled through the rain and the corners of his mouth curled up only lightly. Pete felt a sudden sadness creep up his throat and spiral in the tips of his fingers.

“Yeah, me too.” He stated, sticking out his hand, like when they had first met. Patrick ignored the gesture completely and took Pete into a big bear hug (Patrick had found that he was very good at giving hugs for some reason) and Pete just melted into him. It was like being at home on a stormy night with a blanket and hot chocolate next to a fire. It was definitely the best hug he’d ever had, although it wasn't to last. Pete wondered how long they’d been hugging for but all he could come up with was “too long” and “not long enough”. Of course it was Patrick who pulled off first, leaving Pete to curl in on himself at the absence of anything to hug.

“See you round, Pete!” Patrick called as he jogged off into the early evening.

“Yeah, bye!” Pete called, tripping over his words as, once again, he found Patrick Stumpf walking out of his reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! Please say what you thought!


	3. In Which Pete Breaks His Fist And Patrick Is Utterly Romantic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this ones kind of short, but I quite like it to be honest. I have to apologise to Patrick for writing him with someone who isn't Pete or Elisa YUCK
> 
> Enjoy!

“Shit.” Pete muttered as he slammed the front door behind him. He had taken the long route home after realising that he needed to go in the same direction as Patrick. He didn't want to seem like a loser and come running back up to him after they had said goodbye already, but he didn't mind the extra half hour that it took him to gradually find his way back home, although he wasn't sure his mother would share that opinion.  
“Pete Wentz where have you been?” He looked up at the short frame of his mother who had found herself in front of him, wrapped in a dark shawl and the worst frown Pete had ever seen. Well, on anyone else, that is. It wasn’t unusual when it came to his mother. Pete groaned and rolled his eyes, one of his ways to avoid having to admit he was in the wrong.  
“AI!” His mother exclaimed and in a not-so-gentle fashion slapped her son round the head “No eye rolls or grunts. You broke three rules just there.” As much as Pete doesn't like to admit it, he could never get bored of his mother’s thick Jamaican accent , or larger-than-life attitude. He loved his mum, a lot, so he could never help feeling bad when he’d done something to upset her.  
“Look, I had to find a different way back home after going to Pizza Pizza, y’know, near Sydney’s place? Yeah, so anyway, sorry for not like, texting you….” He looked up at his mother with a sheepish grin, who returned his look with a unsatisfied yet accepting and overpowered gaze.  
“Keep your chin high, back straight, a young boy needs a strong posture.” then strutted off with a reluctant but proud kind of smile, whisking her shawl behind her. Pete sighed in relief and slumped his way upstairs to his bedroom, deflating onto the crisp black duvet. He made no effort for strong posture as he drifted of to sleep, muttering nothings into his pillow.

x

  
Patrick paced back and forth in his confining bedroom, turning over the small paper in his hand. Pete had discouraged him already by his not-so-subtle attempts to convince Patrick not to date Kira over the past few days. It wasn't that big of a deal - he knew, but he knew that it was a big step to take with everything that had happened around him over the last few years. _There’s been some pretty bad stuff happening...I fricken deserve this_ he told himself. He snatched up his phone and dialled the numbers before he could change his mind.  
_“Hey?”_  
“Uh, hi, this is Patrick Stump?” He did know that Kira knew who he was, but he didn't want to seem cocky…  
_“Oh, heeeey Patrick! What d’ya need?”_ Patrick panicked _‘what do you need?’ this is super inconvenient for her…_  
“Um, well, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to meet up this tomorrow? Or like, whatever,”  
_“What? Oh, great! I mean, I’d love to! I'm free right now, maybe you could swing by. My mom's in, so we could go out!”_ Patrick felt himself elevate more and more throughout the response. It was probably the best thing he would've heard (of course he’d only nitpick it later and conclude that she hated him and wanted him to die)  
“Yeah, ok! I’ll be there in like twenty five minutes!”  
_“Twenty five minutes? Don’t we live super close, I mean it’s ok, you gotta give a woman her time, but.”_ Patrick started heating up; It was obvious that Kira would only date someone with a super cool and expensive car (and a license)  
“Oh, I, uh, I can’t drive? Sorry,” Patrick explained with a nervous 'ha'  
_“Oh, right, sorry, I just presumed you could,”_ She giggled _“Never mind, romantic walks are_ so romantic.” Patrick let out an internal sigh of relief and chuckled  
“That’s why they’re called romantic walks,” He told her and she giggled again. Patrick found himself quite accustomed to that sound. It wasn't half bad, to be honest.  
“Well, I'm gonna set out now, I’ll see you in twenty five minutes.” He sighed finally “Bye!”  
_“Bye, Patrick” giggle giggle giggle._ Not bad at all.

About four t-shirt changes and a long-ish walk later, Patrick finally was stood outside the Trevisan residence. A Daisy in hand (he was always a romantic, Patrick) he waited for someone to answer the the large white door. He looked down at his small toes and rocked back and forth, his head pretty much empty.  
“Hi Patrick!” He looked up, startled, and met Kira, swinging off the now open white door. She was wearing a floaty white dress and little white shoes and, as Patrick remembered well for some reason, no socks. She had pulled her smooth black hair into a plait, resting over her shoulder like a snake. She was sporting some formidable eyeliner, darkening her eyes just the right amount. _It's better than Pete's two-days-after look, that's for sure_ Patrick mused  
“H-hey Kira, you asked me to come pick you up?” he smiled at her, heart in throat and flowerless hand deep in pocket.  
“Yup! Oh, is that flower for _me_?” She swooned, fluttering her eyelids and raising her hand to her heart.  
“Ye-yeah, I know it’s kind of stupid but-”  
“That’s soooo cute! Here,” She took the daisy out of his hand and tucked it into her hair, giving him the (second) widest smile he'd seen for some time. Even if she wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, Patrick had to admire, she was really beautiful.  
“You are really beautiful.” It just kind of slipped out of his mouth before he could grab it by the ear and tell it to go sit on the naughty step “s-sorry, I-”  
“Awww, you mean it? You’re such a sweetheart Patrick,” Patrick blushed quite a lot, but smiled nonetheless. He offered his hand to her and she placed her red vanish-clad fingers on it, returning his eyes kind of smile.  
“Allonsy.” Patrick sighed as they began to walk down Kira’s front yard.  
“Oooh, Italian is such an exotic language!”

 x

  
“Can you even believe he’s dating that bitch?!” In St Matthew's Catholic School, word gets around pretty hastily, and Kira Trevisan's new boyfriend was not an exception. So, of course, Sunday night entails Pete having an all too over the phone conversation with Gabe.  
_“Yes, dude, yes I can because A) She’s a damn fine straight female and B) He’s an ok-ish straight male and they both seem to like each other, they are the same age, they are in the same facilities most of the time, honestly, bro, I’d be surprised if he didn’t tap that. It's chemistry.”_ Gabe crooned in his best mediocre porn voice

"Gabe, you’re not helping,” Pete reminded him through gritted teeth.  
_“Well, it’s time to face the facts man, he’s not interested, just leave it, dude.”_ Gabe responded nonchalantly between mouthfuls of pizza  
“No, that isn't how it works, I, urgh! I’m just so angry right now, he told me on Wednesday that he was all for LGBTQ stuff! One of his best friends is non-binary!” Pete almost screeched down the line, clenching up his fist so hard his stubby black fingernails stung into his hand. Now, Gabe wasn’t stupid. He loved messing with Pete, don't get me wrong, but they’d known each other for years and he could tell when Pete was getting truly upset.  
_“Look, dude, calm down, it’s ok, you know how temperamental Kira is, they’ll probably break up within two weeks, it’s ok, Pete, it’s ok,”_  
“It isn't fair, Gabe, I want it to be fair.”  
_“Tough it out, man, I know you can do it, I'm here for you, ‘kay?”_ Pete hung up and threw his phone on the ground. He considered shout-texting Patrick, but even he knew it wasn't Patrick's fault. He still needed to defuse his anger, though, so instead he ran at his wall with a raised fist and slammed into it as hard as he could. There was a nasty cracking noise and Pete dropped to his knees, cradling the not-right hand in the crook of his arm. He didn't cry out or call for his mother; the pain was refreshing, almost. He was some how glad for the splattered blood on the wall, leaking from his hand. He staggered up and swayed his way down the hall to his mother’s room, chewing his lip as not to cry, the pain finally reaching him.  
“Mom, I, uh, p-punched a wall.” 

x

  
At the hospital, Pete found out he’d managed to break two of his fingers and fracture another. He was given a cast that should only be worn for a few days, then he needed to take it off and just tape them all together. He somehow managed to avoid telling to doctor how he’d done broken the thing, which was fortunate as he now regretted his seemingly excellent decision to punch a wall. It was also his right hand, so he wasn't able to write, but what sucked most of all were the people at school. They were all questions and sympathy, when all Pete really wanted was some alone time. Maybe he was wrong, though. Maybe it wasn't the fact he was getting too much attention, maybe it was the fact he was getting too little attention - from Patrick. He was obviously too busy playing with his new toy (Kira) to even think about Pete. Well, he did ask if Pete was alright...and Pete did shrug him off out of spite, but, as always, Pete’s mind was irrational. Anyway, he was allowed to be upset, right?


	4. In Which Pete Has Only Two Friends and Patrick Questions His Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is pretty Patrick heavy, and it flitters through a lot of time pretty quickly but you must suspend your disbelief.
> 
> P.S. who else has seen Les Mes? I just cry from listening to the sound track (I'm listening right now...)

Patrick was happy. Like, so happy. For the first time in years. It was a feeling he was unfamiliar with, it was strange, but comfortable, and promising; this scared him. The fact that he felt like he was waiting for something to happen - to _continue_ to happen, for a long while. Not that he necessarily wanted that continue to be with Kira (although it was looking that way at the present), but he wanted more of that. That that he hadn’t known he’d wanted, but he was so happy, how could anyone want differently? Honestly, he pitied aromantic people. (he scolded himself later on for thinking this) But romance was excellent, truly. It was the kind of thing that made you sit and just think for half an hour without even moving, but also run and jump and shout (not that Patrick himself would ever do this kind of thing). He liked it so much, he even found himself telling the very same thing to Casey, lying on his bed, facing up to the ceiling.

“Dude, that’s textbook _love_ , not _romance_ ,” She told him dryly, relatively unimpressed with his love-struck display over the past month. It was almost November now, bringing the slow sort of frost creeping up windows and hugging around grass. The kind of kisses where billows of steam erupt from each other’s mouths when you pull apart (of course _Patrick_ new this). The boy in question sat up, frowning slightly.

“Really? You think?”

“Well like, yeah, I mean, you spend most of your time with her, she’s the only thing you’ll ever talk about except for “ _omg Pete was such a loser today uuuhhhg_ ” and you’ve been so much happier recently, I just, It’s just pretty obvious. And if it's not her it's certainly someone else” She confessed “The happiness thing, it isn’t like, a bad thing.” She added quickly, knowing how tender Patrick was. He looked at her for a second in thought, then turned his head and rolled his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about…” He dismissed the subject

“Well, I guess you’re pretty young, but it’s certainly a kind of puppy love, if there’s anything there.” Patrick huffed and squished his arms to his stomach

"If it's that annoying, and it's making you think... _that_ , I'll try and talk about her less...but you’re still wrong.” It wasn’t that Patrick didn’t want to love Kira, and certainly not that he didn’t, but he was utterly terrified by the prospect of that kind of intimacy. They hadn’t even screwed yet! He’d said about the continuing to happen, but this was...different.

“Oh, please, God, No! Then you’ll just be whining about Pete constantly! I’d much rather hear about Kira’s new phone case than whatever the hell Gabe and Pete got up to last Friday. Sometimes I swear you’re more in love with him than you are her…” Casey sighed and shook her head in the perfect “smh” style.

“Why do you keep going on about that!? Pete isn’t gay! Nor am I!” Patrick exclaimed and got up, a lot of his happiness suddenly stolen. Casey looked up at him with disappointed eyes. How such a loving person like Patrick could be so judgemental she didn’t know, but what she what she did know was that it wasn’t Patricks fault. It was his dad’s, for bringing him up in that way. Casey knew Patrick had the capacity to be not-so-horrible, as of course in Patrick's eyes one could do anything, as long as it didn’t involve fucking someone of your own gender. Gender identity, aromantics or asexuals, any variation of hetrosexual- this was all fine with him. Hell, if you were bisexual but never went for your own gender Patrick was fine with it, and this is why it made Casey so upset, because she knew that Patrick _wasn’t_ a dick, but he just needed some...guidance.

“Don’t look at me like that…” Patrick muttered, somewhat ashamed ( _and rightly so_ Casey had thought) She shook her head again, but in a more serious way this time, with more meaning. Patrick shuffled uncomfortably. Everytime he got into this debate with Casey an ashamed, sheepish feeling swelled in his stomach, as if his conscious was siding with the opposition. He often thought about this when he was on his own, and it wasn’t rare for him to come to the conclusion that he was wrong, and that everyone was equal, because why would someone choose to do something that would get them thrown into hell? After all, there were only a few obscure references in the bible that he’d found, amongst things instructing that you should stone people to death for going to church on their period.

Much like the prospect of love, this scared him immensely, and he always immediately washed the thought of it from his mind. It was a different type of fear, though. Where his primary fear about Kira was more of _shitwhatifIamohcrapthat’scomitment,_ his more secluded, hidden fear about equality was similar to _ohfuckeverythingi’vebeenbroughtuptobelieveisaliewhatifgod’snotrealfuckinghell_. It was a worse kind of fear, if he thought about it. The kind that you pushed to the back of your mind and tried to forget about until you had a mid-life-crisis about it ten years later.

“Patrick, are you OK? You’ve been standing there for like, a minute.”

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m cool.”

 

VoOoV

 

Pete could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge over the course of November. He had sour kind of hatred about himself, most of the time. It was a calmer sort than before, though. It ebbed out of him slowly, with no sudden outbursts but just a kind of pissed off “don’t fucking come near me” constantly. Accept when he was with Patrick, of course. Patrick took away the anger and seemed keep it with him for the rest of the day that they had spoken, with kind smiles and undeserved eye roles. But of course he was only to return it the next _fucking_ morning. Despite all this, he at least had another type of refuge. Pete was extremely thankful for Gabe, who had put up with him through thick and thin. Pete made extra sure not to show it, but he knew that he probably would be one hundred meters deeper into this hole of his were it not for his best friend.

 “Oh, hey, Pete!” When in his state of sour hatred, Pete caught himself in the rare situation of finding a certain Patrick without someone attached to his face. Unsurprisingly, he found himself hopelessly pleased by this

“Patrick! Hi!” _wanna make out for a while because Kira isn’t here? Haha, didn’t think so._

“Did you get the spanish homework down? I missed the lesson because I had a guitar lesson.” _I know I stalk you._

“Sure! Do you wanna come over to mine and we can work on it together?” _Pleaaasepleaspleasepleasepl_

“Alright.” _yesssss! get a fucking grip on yourself, Pete, christ._

“Buenos!” Pete grinned at Patrick proudly, like a dog waiting to be rewarded for sitting (or speaking spanish, whatever), and the reward was as promised. Patrick tipped his head to the side with a little grin and proceeded out of the school, making Pete's heart do a little happy fizz.

“You coming?”

“What? Oh yeah.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please say what you thought!


	5. In Which Pete Worries About Bees and Patrick Questions his faith.... Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I quite like this one, and it's longer than the others, mainly because I haven't had wifi for a while so I've just been doing this. It has a lot of italics, too, but y'know

Pete had only ever been to Patrick’s house once before, and he’d met Patrick’s little brother Alf there, but no one else had been home. He had a strange sort of yearning to go there again, so needless to say he was only a little bit disappointed when Patrick told him that they couldn’t go to Patrick’s house, only Pete’s. Well, of course he was _ok_ with it, I mean, he was going to Patrick Stumpf for a few hours and this was something he didn’t get to do very often. They walked to Pete’s the long way because ~~Pete was enjoying their conversation~~ Pete forgot the turning and arrived, about twenty minutes later. Pete’s mother was working, too (yes!) so they were mostly alone in the house (except for Hemingway, of course).

As usual, Patrick began heading upstairs, although Pete flopped himself over the sofa and made a loud wingie noise.

“What is it, your highness?” Patrick rolled his eyes

“Paaaatrrrrriiiiccckk.” _honestly? I’m just frustrated because I’m not allowed to pin you against a wall, but that’s just me._ “Blaaaaaahhhhg!” Patrick raised his eyebrows and retreated back into the main room

“Wwwwhhaaaatt?” He mirrored Pete’s whine and lent himself against the arm where Pete’s head was lying. _And why do you think that’s fair? Honestly Patrick, if you want me not to kiss you…_

“I don’t wanna go upstairs.” He lied (somewhat), rolling onto his front so that his eyes were puppy-dogging up at Patrick’s. Patrick nodded slowly in response

“Okay...we can do our stuff down here?” Patrick cocked his head

“I don’t wanna do the stuff either.” As per, Patrick rolled his eyes, but this time it wasn’t so affectionate, more sort of angry.

“I swear to god, Pete, everytime I go to your house to “do homework” we end up playing, like, 21 questions or something instead.” (true story)

“Tut tut, you naughty christian, don’t use the lord’s name in vain.” Pete saw his opportunity and took it, even though this was something Patrick did on a regular basis.

“Oh, fuck _you_.” Patrick, to no one’s surprise, rolled his eyes. Pete fake gasped

“No swearing! You’ll end up in the devil’s lair!” Pete pushed himself off the sofa so that he was level with Patrick (slightly higher, Pete assured himself)

“Oh really?” Patrick raised one eyebrow and stepped slightly closer himself. _It was always all in his eyes_  Pete noted. Pete could always read Patrick’s eyes. Right now they had a kind of playful rage that implied exactly what Pete hoped it might, and it just made Pete’s soul weep. He held his gaze though, absorbing Patrick’s spiky mood.

“You wouldn’t want to go to hell, would you?” He moved even closer, talking in almost a whisper _oh god he’s close he’s close_

“I’m not gonna go to hell.” Patrick was all red when he stepped back from Pete, nervously scratching at a spot under his hat. All in all it was extremely disappointing, but Pete, an aspiring Thespian himself, held up his act.

“Yeah? Well I am,” he let out his best fake laugh “I was like, making out with Gabe like last month!” he shook his head with a smile and sat back down, but Patrick didn’t share in his merriment.

“You?...with... _Gabe_?” Patrick approached it quietly with a confused, almost hurt frown and disbelief dancing on his tongue.

“Yup, quite a few times, actually. He said he wanted to get better at kissing, and y'know practice on me, and he truly is _awful_ , but I think he secretly enjoys it. Oh, god, and there was that french guy who came over for like three months. And Iman Craigson, sheesh, I haven’t spoken to _him_ in like a year…”

“That’s...disgusting.” Patrick put it simply, but it had enough sincerity and shock to slowly drain the happiness from Pete’s smile as Patrick’s words were processed.

“W-, uh, what d’ya mean? I-.” Pete tilted his head to the side, desperately trying to keep his smile as Patrick stared

“You’re joking, right Pete?”

“No? I mean, I _guess_ I _usually_ go for the girls, I’m a bit of a gay above the belt kinda guy, but I’m definitely not joking, aren’t you?” despite his best attempts his smile was beginning to fade as the weird frown on Patrick’s face grew into a disgusted sort of grimace.

“That’s _horrible_ , Pete! When you said you weren’t christian I didn’t know you did _that_!”

“What do you mean, “horrible”? I thought you were ok with that stuff!” He’d said he was hadn’t he? When the two of them were at Pizza Pizza?

“If I _ever_ implied that I am _sorry_ but I did _not_ mean it!” _Really? Are you sure you’re not lying? Patrick?_ Patrick was almost shouting now, urging Pete on further.

“You said! I asked you and you said! You were talking about your friend and you _said_!” Pete was standing up again now, and they were close again, but not in the same way as before. He was shouting, too, with the same whininess of a little child who knows it’ll get an ice cream if it makes an uproar.

“I said I was OK with _gender identity_ but not... _that_!” Patrick retaliated Pete’s shout with even more anger than Pete had had. There was something about the way that Patrick talked about Pete’s gay agenda that made Pete feel _awful_. It was like Patrick thought it was the most disgusting thing Pete could ever do, and Pete could make up for it by killing his mother because even that would be less awful.

“Why are you being so irrational? If you understand gender identity struggles then _surely_ you can understand sexual and romantic orientation?!” _surely, right?_

“They’re not the same, THEY’RE NOT THE SAME! The bible says-!”

“I don’t give a FUCK about the bible!”

“WELL YOU SHOULD! You really _are_ going to go to hell Pete! Fuck you!” _what? Patrick you’re being silly._

“Fuck me? Fuck you! You’re the one who’s being fucking _HORRIBLE_!”

“Pete you’re disgusting I _HATE_ YOU!” that one was the worst, like a punch in the stomach. _I’m- Patrick? Sorry. Patrick?_ Pete didn’t manage to respond to “hate” but sort of just gazed confusedly into Patrick’s eyes with the fragile hope he’d take it back. Patrick on the other hand didn’t manage to meet Pete’s eyes for too long, but averted his angry, exasperated gaze down towards his socked feet and a more ashamed cover. When it was clear that Patrick wasn’t going to say anything more Pete adopted Patrick’s anger, but refrained himself from shouting. Instead he walked as calmly as he could over to his school backpack and retrieved the Spanish homework. He slammed it down onto the coffee table next to where Patrick was standing, then turned and stomped to the door.

“Thank y- er, Pete? Pete, where are you going?” It was a pathetically quiet attempt at defusing the argument, but in truth Pete was only going to the kitchen to get a glass of water to calm himself down. He got two glasses, taking his time to make sure Patrick felt as guilty as possible (of course Pete felt bad about this later), and got a cookie for himself but not for Patrick. Pete knew he was being selfish, really. Even if Patrick had declared his hatred for Pete and been a homophobic dickwad, Patrick was still a perfect little angel that deserved all the cookies in the world. So Pete certainly felt bad whilst sitting with his feet tucked under himself and gnawing on his I’m-feeling-sorry-for-myself cookie and watching Patrick pour over his homework. Pete knew it was irrational for him to still feel the urge to tackle Patrick to the ground and leave bite marks all over his neck after the fight they’d just had a fight, no matter how short it had been. Never the less, he was still staring down at Patrick sitting on the floor with a longing affection and a melancholic smile.

 

x

 

As usual, Patrick finished his work very quickly, and stood up cautiously and quietly once he was done, as if avoiding a wounded animal in fear of making it worse. Patrick stood there for a few moments looking at Pete with an odd expression, as Pete himself stared unmoved at the spot Patrick had been moments before. Patrick felt like he’d just popped a balloon and Pete was the elastic outer shell left after the bang. He wanted to apologise and say he didn’t mean it, but he didn’t want to lie either (would this be a lie? Really?). OK, so Patrick didn’t _hate_ Pete but he’d harboured a lot less respect for him than before (or so he’d told himself), but he needed to do _something_ to break their silence.

“Look, Pete, I shouldn’t have said that.” Pete didn’t reply

“But, even it I shouldn’t have said that it won’t make it less true.” Still nothing. _Crap I’m making it worse_ Patrick struggled

“Well, I don’t hate you...christ, Pete I don’t even know if I can 100% say I’m against... _it_ , you’re such an excellent person, I just-” Patrick sighed and rubbed under his glasses

“Sometimes the only payoff for keeping your faith is having it tested time and time again, you know.” Pete finally said with a grim laugh (unable to help the pleasant little fuzz at Patrick’s use of “excellent”). He got up, stretched himself out, then shook his head like a dog.

“You wanna watch a movie?” Pete asked brightly. Patrick was slightly surprised at Pete’s amiability, even though he knew Pete well enough to deduce that this was just a cover

“Well, uh, I mean, you haven’t done your spanish yet, so…” Patrick wasn’t too sure why he was making up excuses, but he supposed he really did care for Pete’s education.

“Nah, I’ll do it later, It’s not due ‘til next week anyway, so I’ll be alright.” Patrick was still quite wary of Pete in this weird mood, so he didn’t want to pry

“Sure, uh, OK, what are we- oh.” Pete knelt down in front of the cabinet on top of which the T.V. was sitting. He felt like crying, so he picked out Pocahontas and slotted the disc into the disc drive, Patrick watching him all the while.

“You gonna stand for the whole movie?” Pete asked once he’d sat back down with an easiness that was making Patrick super uncomfortable, but he sat none the less.

 

Pete was right; he _did_ cry. As soon as the first “blue horn moon” of Colours of the Wind he felt his throat start going lumpy and his eyes began welling up with tears. Despite his primary desires, he immediately started feeling stupid as his emotions swept him, so he bit his lip and hugged his knees instead of letting it out. It wasn’t only Patrick that was inducing this (although he was playing a major role), but it was the movie, too. Pete knew this was supposed to be a happy part of the film, when Poco shows the English brute beauty, but the fact that in real life these people _still_ went ahead and destroyed the beautiful world that the natives were living in. Are _continuing_ to rape the land of its beauty and purity. The fact that this film is so hopeful about the future, that the natives are so sure that the country will remain peaceful and glorious, when in truth there was nothing they could’ve done to stop the settlers. This lead onto Pete think about population growth and shortness of resources and all the other things wrong with the world. The bees, in particular, and the balance of life and death they bring with them. He felt so helpless in the face of it all, and knowing he could do nothing didn’t make him worry any less.

By then Pete was sobbing, although not hard enough so that he couldn’t make sure to lean away from Patrick. Patrick, who had by this time paused the movie and was looking with a concerned frown over in Pete’s quivering direction. He moved a tentative hand to Pete’s shoulder, but withdrew it quickly and put his hands between his thighs awkwardly, averting his gaze. Pete wanted more than anything for Patrick to put his hand back, he wasn’t even that upset anymore, he was just crying for the sake of crying. But as if some higher power had seen the shaking mess that Pete was and had taken pity on him, whether it was Patrick’s god or another, the soft hand was replaced on his shoulder, instantly soothing his sobs, slowing them.

“...Pete?” Patrick whispered

“...Yeah?” Pete sniffed back

“...I don’t hate you.” Like before, Pete stayed silent

“And...you aren’t disgusting. I’m really sorry, I’m going to really think about my religion thing. It seems.” He didn’t finish

“I-”

“I think you might be my best friend.” That one sent Pete into even deeper despair, hugging the tear stained brown fur pillow closer into himself as Patrick lent over him. Patrick himself was feeling quite conflicted. He'd made that one up on the spot to make Pete stop crying, but now that he'd actually said it...did he mean it? I mean, Casey’s been there since forever, but Pete was a new kind of companionship. One that he enjoyed better? He didn’t know. What he did know is that he’d _always_ be loyal to Casey, but right now...well right now he was stroking a small puppy to sleep, and he was alright with that...Even if that puppy was not immaculately pure and sin-free.

Pete stopped crying fairly quickly, but didn’t move from his spot for a long while

“Pete?” Patrick whispered again

“Uh-huh?” Responded the half asleep Pete

“I have to go. It’s dark out.”

“OK.” _no please don’t leave I need you here_ “Have a safe journey back.”

“...I’m sorry.”

“...Yeah.”

“Bye Pete.”

“Bye.” _Be safe on your way home, it’s dark. Make sure you go to sleep when you get back, it’s late. Text me when you get home, I want you to be ok_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please tell me how you found it!


	6. In Which Pete Has a Good Day and Patrick's Brother Gets Shouted At

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda fuck around with Pete's genetics and family in this and I'd just like to say that 100% of this is not actually factual
> 
> P.S.  
> Ugh I finished Parks and Rec the other day I'm literally going to die

It’s needless to say that Pete and Patrick were still on rather weird terms after their unfortunate mishap, and being as different as they were, each handled it separately. Patrick did his best to hint at his closest group of friends (LuckyLouisCaseyDaveed) that something had happened and they all caught on pretty fast (except for Daveed, he’s clueless). Casey was the one to actually ask him about it, at their weekly “crew meeting” at Lucky’s, on Tuesday. Patrick spilled his guts completely at the first opportunity to do so, and got a lot of mixed reactions in response. Daveed was the most shocked, with his “But why didn’t you say anything was wrong? I didn’t know!” (although Patrick decided that ‘anything’ was not _wrong_ , just not _right_ ). Lucky was pretty shocked, she’d taken Pete to be a straight white douchebag, but she was wrong in that Pete was not straight and Pete was not white, (but douchebag was accurate). Louis was fairly indifferent, concluding that Pete and Patrick’s relationship was not in great danger at all. Not that xe didn’t care, Patrick was one of Louis’s closest friends. Just, that Patrick was making a bit of a mountain out of this mole hill. Casey, of course, was particularly unfased by the whole thing, confessing (only to herself) that she could've seen it coming, although she was surprised that there wasn't a make out scene somewhere in the mix (and suspected there was)((which there very nearly was))(((n-never mind))).

 

Pete on the other hand immediately went whistling to Gabe the morning after and gratefully unloaded all of his troubles there. Gabe responded with a sigh, a head shake, and a lovingly patronising kiss on Pete’s nose

“You’ll be fine, bro.” Pete of course knew this, but still felt entitled to mopiness and the opportunity to feel sorry for himself. The rest of the people that Pete hung out with (“friends” is risky considering Pete’s barely spoken to anyone except Patrick, Gabe, and Kira in the past month) knew something was up, but didn't take too much interest, seeing as Pete was definitely one to overreact about everything.

 That of course left Kira, who was not to find out about this event by any means ever, because she always got a bit touchy when she felt Patrick and Pete were too friendly (Patrick knew that this was a negative thing in a relationship, but he mostly chose to ignore that). Pete so desperately wanted to tell her, anything to sabotage her relationship with Patrick, but the two of them had already agreed not to tell her, which was unfortunate. What was also unfortunate was the fact that pretty much nothing had changed between Patrick and Kira. They still seemed to be surgically attached to one another, especially when Pete was around, Kira would fling herself at Patrick and latch onto his face. It was rather amusing, actually, seeing as Kira was so much taller than Patrick, almost half a foot, and she mainly looked like she was his mom when they hugged (except for skin tone difference, of course).

Pete found himself thinking about these types of things far too much. This didn't help him at all, either, it just aggravated him further, the constant thought of something unthinkable. Patrick was a song stuck in Pete's’ head, and Kira was the broken pair of headphones not letting him listen.

Patrick forgot most of his Pete troubles over the next week and shrouded himself in Kira, subconsciously avoiding Pete for some reason he wasn't to sure of. He tried his best to tell himself off for doing so as he knew Pete and Kira were good friends and she got slightly upset everytime Patrick didn't want to hang with the two of them (and reasonably so). Patrick decided amongst his misshapen thoughts that he wanted to make things right with Pete, so he invited Pete ‘round for dinner, a bold move on Patrick’s part considering his at-home-troubles, but none the less, it was a risk Patrick had decided to take. For his girlfriend, of course.

 

x

 

When Pete received the invitation from a Wednesday afternoon Patrick he was, needless to say, absolutely over the moon. It filled him with glee to think he might be getting some calm, not screaming Patrick time of his ownHe had always wanted to meet the rest of Patrick’s family to see if they were all as brilliant as Patrick was. Which was unlikely, but even so…

The two boys didn’t speak much as they walked to Patrick’s. Companionable, hinting at awkward, but neither minded too much. Patrick couldn’t say that he wasn’t nervous, but it was only a little niggle, nothing too bad. Pete on the other hand was still beaming, all excited to meet everyone in Patrick’s family. Greet them properly, make sure they were treating Patrick with love and respect like anyone should. Pete laughed at himself internally _christ, Pete, you’re like an over protective boyfriend and you’re not even a boyfriend_. Things were pretty good for Pete today. He’d found a ten dollar bill in his hoodie, his nails didn’t chip during DT, Mr Moss said his English exam paper was marked incorrectly and that he actually got an A over a B, Kira was ill, and now he was walking back to _Patrick Stumpf’s_ house. With _Patrick Stumpf_. _Get a hold of yourself you’ve_ _known him for over three months, god Pete._

 

Yet another bonus of this little event was that this time Pete didn't have to worry about Patrick complaining about (the lack of) homework because A) it was a Friday and B) Pete had been invited for _dinner_ and it was _formal_ (Patrick had made extra sure that Pete knew that it wasn't, but he was allowed to pretend). Patrick’s little brother Alf was the first to greet Pete, or Patrick, rather, with a

“Hey Patrick, why didn't you walk home with me? You’re so _mean_.”

“I, um, I was walking home with...Pete.” responded the reddening Patrick (to the delight of the happy Pete).

“Oh yeah, I remember Pete. Pete’s your friend, right?”

“Yup.” Pete chimed in and flashed a winning smile. So far so good

Next was Patrick’s dad, who they found in the kitchen, making something that smelt...questionable. Something about the way he was captivated Pete for some reason. He reminded him of one of those dads from a Ghibli film. His smile lit up the whole room (not as much as Pete’s, Patrick would argue) with pearly white teeth and curving eyes. His build was very wide - stocky, not fat - and his clean shaven face was kinda long, like Patrick’s, spread out over his head. His eyes were the worst, they were the most like Patrick. They had a kind of tired, worn downess underneath the subtle black circles. Even though he was smiling now, Pete could sort of tell from his experience with Patrick that this man was rather sad. And not the crying sort that passes away after a few days, but the lingering kind that made you permanently tired, and crept up on you while you were trying to sleep.

Pete ignored his observations and offered his hand like when he had first met Patrick

“Hey, Pete Wentz.” He smiled, not too sure how to act around Patrick’s parents because Patrick hadn't drilled him about it first. Turns out this was OK. Mr Stumpf took Pete’s hand in a meaty one of his own and shook him all the way to his spine

“David Stumpf, I’m Patrick’s father.”

“Just Stump is OK too…” Patrick added, scratching at his side burn nonchalantly. 

“Just _David_ is OK too.” Mr Stumpf finished and Pete swelled up like a balloon. It took all of him not to burst into a fit of laughter, but he’d have to settle on a sledge-hammer smile instead. So Pete liked Patricks family so far, and he could definitely agree that they were good people.

 

“So who are we gonna meet next?” Pete fizzed after the two of them had left the kitchen. He knew that Patrick had multiple siblings, all boys, all younger.

“Dude. I didn’t take you here to meet my family, I took you here because we’re friends. The only reason I went into the kitchen was to get some water and my dad just happened to be in there.”

“But I wan-”

“And now I'm going to go upstairs to my room and get changed because our school uniform sucks.” _oh yes please._ It was not unreasonable for Patrick to be slightly unsettled by the expression that took place on Pete’s face after he’d said that. But...never mind. Patrick started upstairs, Pete in tow, and made for his bedroom

“Dude.”

“Wh- Oh, sorry.” Pete smiled sheepishly as he retread out of Patrick’s light blue room, and found a place sitting against the corridor wall, waiting for Patrick inside.

“Patr- oh.” A head stuck itself out of one of the other doors along the hall. Pete smiled at it, but only received a blush and a weird frown in return, proceeded by the exit of the oh-so-Patrick-like face. Pete didn't mind too much; if there was a stranger in his house he probably wouldn't be too welcoming about it, either. That being said, he’d never had any siblings of his own.

 

Patrick came out about a minute after in dark blue jeans and a zippy hoodie that Pete had seen before. Patrick’s third favourite he seemed to remember.

“You can come in now.”

“‘Tis most gracious of you, lord Trick.” Pete grinned in a stupid attempt of mocking the dry tone Patrick had used

“You are most welcome, Duchess Peter.” Patrick responded, playing along

“Joke’s on you, I understand and accept gender equality!” It wasn't a poke or an insult, Pete only meant it as a joke, but Patrick just shifted uncomfortably, remembering their little spit. _Sorry. Sorry, Patrick, I upset you, sorry._

 

_x_

 

Patrick’s room was average sized, with pale blue walls and a slightly darker blue bed in the middle of the left wall when you entered, which Patrick had now walked over two and sat on. Next to the bed there was a night stand with a lamp and some books propped up around it, and there was a white chest of drawers opposite. On the far wall there was a white rimmed widow, closed at the moment, with blue curtains, the same blue as the bed. _Patrick’s room is really cute_ Pete thought as he padded over to join Patrick on the bed. _Not bad at all._

Pete found out that Patrick’s family usually all had dinner together, which was nice, it made Pete feel more at home, as this was often not possible with Pete’s family; his mother worked late quite a few nights and his father had a job in Nashville, and he was away from home most of the time, so Pete was often left to make himself something like ramen or just pick from the fridge. Patrick said that it was stupid that they all had to eat together, but Pete could tell that he wasn't too strongly opposed to it.

Patrick’s dad had made pizza, from scratch, with his own dough and everything (Patrick said that being a pastor wasn't very time consuming so his father had a lot of time on his hands (“wait, your dad’s a pastor?” “kinda...it’s complicated”)). It wasn't the _best_ pizza Pete had ever had, but he appreciated the work in it, although it appeared that Patrick’s brothers were not as impressed.

“Dad, this pizza sucks.” was helpfully inputted by Patrick’s fourteen year old brother, Karl (two of four). David’s face sort of dropped a little bit, but he held it together the best he could and ignored his son

“I like it.” Alf shrugged, taking another bite out of his slice and David smiled in a sheepishly proud kind of way down at his plate. _Oh my_ god _he’s basically Patrick senior this is killing me_. Patrick, on the other hand, just kind of shifted slightly and prodded at his nicely sliced up pieces with a certain apathy

“Do you not like it either, Patrick?” David cocked his head to the side

“No, no, it’s fine…”

“Yeah, uh, Dad, I'm not really hungry, I'm gonna...take off.” Patrick’s sixteen year old brother, Spencer, the one who had stuck his head out.

“No, Spencer, you’ll stay here and eat with the rest of us.” Pete admired David’s dadliness. He had the perfect passive aggressive undertone to his voice when he was instructing his son, but that wasn't straight up shouting or ordering. But despite this subtle impressiveness, the potential for an argument made Pete _slightly_ uncomfortable.

“What? No, I don’t want your shitty pizza anyway.” The whole table went completely quiet, even Alf stopped trying to steal Pizza off Patrick’s plate to stare at Spencer. David looked as if he had risen up in the air. All the features on his face rose up towards his hairline and he extended himself up to his full height, which _was_ pretty impressive. Pete concluded that Patrick must of gotten his small stature from his mother.  _Where is your mom, Trick?_.

“ _Spencer_?” Wow. Ok. That was a punch in the face.

“No, Dad, I don’t care, I'm leaving.” Spencer stood up and made for the door way out of the dining room (Patrick’s house was _fancy_ )

“SPENCER STUMPF YOU WILL SIT BACK DOWN RIGHT NOW, I WON’T LET THIS FAMILY FALL APART ANY MORE, DAMMIT.” David threw his hands onto the wooden table with such a force that the plates rattled and Pete’s knife fell on the floor, which he didn't pick up, because that was freakin scary. His first thought was actually Patrick, ‘cause if something scary happens of course you always protect the most precious person in the room. Patrick was alright, though, looked as if he was pretty much used to this kinda thing. Spencer, on the other hand, went white as a sheet and hurried back to his chair. Pete’s second thought was the “any more” part of David’s sentence. He wondered if something had happened to the Stumpf’s in the past. He hoped not.

 

The six of them sat in silence for a few moments in the wake of the explosion, before the tension became unbearable

“So Pete, where are you from?” David said finally

“Oh, uh, well,” Pete started glad to break into conversation “I was born in Korea, even though I don’t have any Korean blood, we lived in New York City and my mom just happened to be on holiday when I happened. We moved out here to the suburbs when I was about six months old. My mom’s, like, four fifths Jamaican and one fifth Spanish, but since Spanish is more accessible to me than Jamaican, she wants me to learn Spanish, and...Patrick helps me loads with that! So like, thanks.” He smiled, addressing Patrick, who rolled his eyes, but smiled too. David nodded, interested, while Spencer and Karl at the other end of the table were having a quiet argument about something or rather.

“And what about your father?”

“Oh, well, funny story actually, my biological dad was a complete ass.” Pete stopped abruptly and covered his mouth, eyes flicking to Alf, “Oh, gosh, sorry.” David frowned slightly, but wasn't too angry

“No, no, it’s fine. Please, continue,”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to, I’ll, uh. So yeah, he kinda sucked. Like, _Really_ sucked. He left my mom after I was conceived because he was so f- damn afraid.” Pete stabbed a piece of broccoli, beginning to get angry “He didn't give her any warning either, just left in the middle of the night, who does that? Used to hit her, too, all the time,” Pete was spitting his words out, though still cautious of his colourful vocabulary “even now, I can see how hard she finds it to even _think_ about him. And- urgh!- He was anti-choice, too, and for some reason she was still holding onto the son of a - gun, so she didn't get me aborted. She was so attached, she even named me after him; I’m Pete Wentz the third! I can’t even imagine why she’d name me after someone like... _that_. She’s...moved on, now. Says my name is a symbol of her getting stronger and forgetting the...bastard. I _hate_ him.” Pete clenched his fists and let out a slow breath to calm himself down. His audience was looking pretty concerned by now, even Spencer had looked up from his phone to listen, but it was quite clear that Alf pretty much had no idea what was going on (Pete wondered if he really _was_ twelve)

“Why are you milky coffee colour?” Alf asked after a few moments of silence, but only achieved to restore it with a more awkward pace. Everyone’s heads shot to Alf, then to Pete slowly, but Pete didn't mind very much.

“Because my mom is from Jamaica, and most people from Jamaica have browny-black coloured skin. My” Pete inhaled sharply “ _dad_ was from America, and he had pinky-white skin, like you. When they had me, the colours mixed, and made this colour.” Pete explained carefully. Yup. Definitely not twelve.

“Ohhh, OK, I understand.” Alf said happily, it was obvious there were no insulting intentions in his words

“Do you-? Is your, is your mother-?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. She’s seeing this guy Suga - he’s korean - and he’s been around since I was like, six months old, so he’s practically my dad. I think of him as my dad.” Pete explained

“Oh, good, I’m glad that you’re properly looked after.” The rest of the meal was more small talk and quite a lot wanting to look at Patrick but not being able to because David was watching. Overall? Succesful. The Stumpfs get an A+ from Pete.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! I hope you enjoyed it! Tell me how you found it?


	7. In Which Pete Tries To Speak Patwan And Patrick Is Very, Very Tired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super SOOrry for not updating in so long! I've had exams and other stuff I need to right and Twenty One Pilots have been stressing me out but agh it's been way too long I'm so sorry! Hope you like it ;0!

To Pete’s uttermost delight, Patrick invited Pete to sleep over, and  as it was a weekend the next day, Pete’s mother complied. Patrick main reason for doing this was that Pete just seemed so _eager_ ; Patrick didn’t want to end that kind of happiness. So he supposed the actual main reason was that Patrick cared for Pete? Patrick wasn’t going to give it that much thought. Pete on the other hand gave it probably too much thought, but whatever the reason he was super happy with it.

 

x

 

The two of them spent the rest of the night in Patrick’s room, trying their best to avoid the hushed conflict downstairs. They didn’t really do anything in particular, it was just Pete generally poncing about and Patrick rolling his eyes every three minutes

“Heheh, yeah...y’know, Pete...it really sucks about your dad.” Patrick murmured as he finished a laugh, sitting himself down on the bed.

“Yeah? I think so too.” Pete sat (perhaps a little too close) next to Patrick, sighing his response

“But...it _was_ kinda funny…” Patrick shuffled away slightly, but when he looked up at Pete his eyes were still glinting

“Huh?” _Patrick? What do you mean?_

“When you said “ass”, I was _literally_ about to die.” _Oh, I getcha. That’s ok, I still love you- no, I mean_ like _you. love requires way too much commitment and thought - I like you more now probably. Oh, what am I talking about every word you say makes me like you more._ Pete’s eye crinkled up and a giggle escaped his mouth

“Yeah, and when I said son of a gun, does anyone even say that? Not even my grandma would say anything like that! Not that my grandma isn’t a butt-kicking badass with a whole lot of fiery pep.” Patrick chuckled rocked forward, shaking his head

“Pete, I’m gonna-” the scrunched up eyes and streaming tears told what Patrick was going to say for him “And when Alf-” He couldn’t finish his sentence due to uncontrollable giggles, which had by this time also infected Pete, whose shoulders were shaking in an alarming fashion as he did his best to watch Patrick do his Patrick laugh. Patrick’s laugh was Pete’s favourite. He laughed with his whole body, he met his knees and chest and when it was really bad, hit his thighs like an old timey person. He never laughed with his eyes open, either, and little tears sometimes found their way out of the corners of his slits. But only when Pete could see his face though, he often hid it between his knees or something similar, but only for a second. He’d jerk his head back up once he finished his laugh, and it was usually a very short laugh, then collect himself into an earsplitting grin. To make Patrick look like that brought inexplicable joy to Pete, but this time Patrick's final expression was less happy, looking at Pete with an odd gaze.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Pete asked after a few seconds of silencing himself. Patrick was quiet for a few moments, considering his answer, but not taking his eyes away from Pete’s

“I just...I can’t think of you in the same way as before...” Patrick bit the inside of his cheek “I’m, sorry I-, it’s stupid.” he shook his head quickly and turned away. Pete’s heart dropped as he processed what Patrick had said. He wasn’t sure this made him sad though. He wasn’t sure _how_ Patrick had thought of him before, or why it was a bad thing that Patrick’s previous perception of Pete had changed, but it was. He was sure that only negative thing's could've come out of their arguing, no matter how much Pete forgave him and scolded himself for raising his voice at an angel

“Oh...sorry?” Pete wasn’t really sure what to say “What...do you mean?” Patrick didn’t respond, or even look back at Pete

“...Patrick?” Pete’s voice was soft, an inadvertent apology for asking Patrick more than once, something Pete himself hated.

“It’s just about the whole…” his voice turned to a whisper, as if he was saying a swear word in front of his parents“ _gay_ thing...you just feel...wrong.” Even though Patrick was basically breaking up with him, the way Patrick had said “wrong” instead of anything else, was just doing it for Pete right then.

“S-so, what? I mean, I’m not actually _gay_ as such, I don’t really care about gender.” Patrick didn’t say anything, just cocked his head in interest “Like if we’re talking downstairs, I prefer girls, but like, dicks are alright too. I guess playing with new toys is more fun than using the ones you already have, but I mean, I can swing both ways.”

“Alright, Alright, _Pete_!” Patrick’s cheeks reddened and he chuckled again. _So not_ that _differently, then._

“Look, Pete, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” _you’ve said that before, haven’t you?_ “forget it, I don’t mean it.” _yes you do_

“Trick, it’s ok, I just need to know...I dunno, what I can do? uurgh.” _fuck that sounded really stupid_. Pete ran a hand over his face out of exasperation

“No, Pete, it’s not like I’m never gonna talk to you again in my life, I still like you,” _Patrick senpai?_ “But I feel like you’re...forbidden?” _Patrick, please, you’re killing me_ “I know it sounds weird, ugh, but like, my dad, you know? And...and everything I’ve been told and learned, like, you’re...against that.” Patrick ended it gently and Pete kept his mouth shut, not daring to say anything. He was mulling it over in his head, interpreting what Patrick had just said

“Are we...OK? I know I just told you we’re not, but can I still be friends with you?”

“PfffffffOf course, ‘Trick, I’ll always be your friend.” and he meant it. At the place he was then, Pete genuinely planned to _always_ be there for Patrick, no matter what. He of all people knew that looking to the future could be a bad idea and things rarely go as they are meant to, but Patrick was. And Pete was fine with that.

 

x

 

After the two of them had cleared everything up, they both went to sleep pretty soon. Pete on the floor, Patrick on the bed (1am: “Are you sure you don’t mind sleeping on the floor?” “Patrick, I actively _want_ to sleep on the floor if it means you’ll shut the hell up.”). Neither of them got much sleep, though. Patrick because he couldn’t stop thinking about Pete and what his dad would say, yadda yadda yadda, and Pete because he refused to go to sleep until he knew Patrick was softly tucked away into slumber, which he finally was around four thirty in the morning, four hours before Patrick’s dad wanted them out of the house for “work reasons”.

“Like he fuckin _does_ any work…” Patrick had grumbled, grabbing his hoodie from the table in the hallway. Pete just grinned and followed Patrick’s lead out the door and into the crisp suburban morning of Chicago.

“Where d’ya wanna go …”(yawn)”...now?” Pete shrugged and put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder, something that Patrick found oddly comforting

“I dunno, man. We could flip over to my place...I’d let you sle-ep!” Pete sing-songed in an effort to convince Patrick to spend more time with him

 “Seems legit.” Patrick agreed with a nod “Show me the way, Captain Wentz.”

“Follow me, lunchbox.” Pete was already skipping ahead before Patrick could make his disgruntled response

“The fuck did that come from? Lunchbox? What the hell?” Pete just giggled and continued on ahead, with Patrick cantering after him.

~

“How do you have all this fuckin energy?” Patrick called ahead once they had finally reached Pete’s house, to which Pete shrugged and replied

“I’m used to it. I don’t sleep much at all. That was only a bit worse than a normal night for me.”

“That must fuckin suck, man.” _You swear a lot when you’re tired, did you know that, Patrick?_

“Eh. It’s ok. It gives me plenty of time to think.” _about you_. Pete unlocked the door, holding it open for Patrick to enter first. His mother was around and immediately came rushing to the door once she had seen the two of them from across the hall

“Patrick! Hello!” She came rushing towards the two of them and sprawled herself around Patrick. Her son on the other hand stood there, waiting patiently for his greeting, and was not impressed when all he received was a pat on the cheek

“Hola Madre.”

“Buenos días, Peterro, speaking spanish now, are we? Whenever I want him to? he doesn’t. An whenever I don’t? He does!” Dale cried, throwing her arms up. Pete couldn’t deny it- the only reason he was attempting to speak spanish was because of Patrick. He knew Patrick was really fascinated by language, and naturally Pete wanted to impress him. In truth, Pete didn’t know too much spanish. When he was a baby and his mother was deciding what language he should be taught first, she chose English because she thought it would be easier for the three of them (including Suga) to live in america if Pete didn’t have a trait that might alienate him further, and Jamaican was so similar to English he might as well learn the language of the country he was going to. Of course he had picked up little domestic things over the years, in both Spanish and Patwa, so he wasn’t entirely inept.

“Patrick, lovely, would you like anything? A drink? Maybe a snack?”

“Mi ca hab a teacake, mom?” Pete chimed in, again showing his (rather limited) linguistic skills. _Do you speak Patwa Patrick? Do I know a language that you don’t? For god’s sake, NOTICE ME!_

“Shhh, boy. Patrick?”

“No, thank you, Miss Wentz.” Pete wished his mother wouldn’t let Patrick call her this, but he could tell she really liked to be addressed as a superiority figure

“Well if you’re sure I have some work to be getting on with. Peterro, take good care of Patrick now, won’t you?”

“Ya, Mom.” Dale swept herself upstairs to her small office, leaving the two boys on their own. Pete made his way to the kitchen in pursuit of a teacake, while Patrick absent mindedly followed along, yawning every five seconds.

“You sure you don’t want anything, Stumpy? We’ve got pocky? And chocolate digestives?” Pete asked between chomps of the little lime cube that was his green-tea teacake

“The fuck’s a digestive?” Patrick asked drowsily

“It’s this cookie thing from England! They call them “Biscuits” over there. They’re really friggin tasty, too.”

“I know what a fuckin biscuit is, Pete I’m not an imbecile.”

“Coulda fooled me.” Pete giggled, and Patrick, far too tired for any quick witted comebacks responded with a weak

“Fuck off…” and another yawn “Anyway, you promised me sleep. I didn’t come here for nothing, y’know.”

“I get it, I get it, Princess Patrick needs his nine hours a n- Oh _Shit_!” Pete stopped mid-sentence

“What is it?”

“I left my tie at your place! My mom is gonna _kill_ me!”

“Don’t worry, dude, I’ll get it too you Monday. Do you have another one?”

“No! Crap...are you sure you can bring it in? I could swing by tomorrow if you want?”

“That’s ok, man, I’m seeing you Monday anyway, so.”

“Thanks, Stumpette. You _never_ wanna get grilled by my mom; she switches in and out of Spanish and Jamaican like a strobe light. I don’t think I’ve ever understood why she was actually telling me off when she’s shouting at me.” Patrick yawned again, stretching his arms above his head. _Frick, you’re really tired, aren’t you, ‘trick._

“I’m not gonna lie, I was kinda joking before, but I’m totally cool with you having a nap on my bed.”

“On your bed? Are you sure?” Pete nodded “Thanks, man. I’m not usually like this but I didn’t really get much sleep Thursday night either, so. I was up with Kira.” Patrick’s face curled into a reluctant smile when he mentioned her name, but Pete’s face soured and had to stop his lip from curling. “I mean, we were only skyping, so.” _how come you never skype me?_

Patrick Having A Nap turned into both of them lying on Pete’s guest room bed, neither boy really saying much. Pete was mainly just enjoying having Patrick lying next to him, but Patrick had never really stopped thinking about Kira since he’d mentioned her. He’d thought about it a lot, and he was beginning to think that it might not even be Kira that was making him so happy, but rather the idea of her. The idea that someone had boundless affection for him made him really swell up with something odd.

“What do you think love is, Pete?” The bluntness of Patrick's question immediately had Pete’s mind was swarming with his answers, but not one of them in the least bit coherent. _In one word? You. Yet even if I could say a million words I’m sure I wouldn’t make it past “Patrick Stump”, and then even struggle with the next letter. I feel like I dedicate everything that I do to you. I can’t get over the idea of you. The fact that you can even be thought of is inexplicable for me, you’re so_

“Patrick…” Pete mumbled and rolled over, that he could feel Patrick’s (suddenly a lot more frequent) heartbeat against his ribs. That one wasn’t really a conscious decision, but the next one was. Pete leaned his head forward, hesitating for a moment to scan over Patrick’s still, startled face.

He felt bad as his mouth graced the surface of the slightly parted one beneath him, but he couldn’t bring himself to get off (and anyway, that’d be way too embarrassing, right?). Pete felt a wave of numbness shiver through him as he tasted Patrick for the first time. Pete tasted salt, from sweat, but also apricots (like he’d seen Patrick down before the pair of them were thrown out) and even an undertone of toothpaste, once he had dared to lick his tongue against the bottom row of teeth. It was like all his other senses had dispersed so that he could taste Patrick. Taste him and remember it, to map out every single thing Patrick had eaten over the past week and be able to tell it backwards in a year’s time. He couldn’t feel anything in his fingers, his mouth, knees, nor nose, nor anywhere else on his body. He wasn’t really seeing, either, despite his eyes that had failed to shut. He was only aware of himself moving against Patrick, flowing with the tick-tick-tick on his chest, and the BitterSourSweet finding it’s way into his taste buds.

The first thing Pete felt when feeling had tingled it’s way back into him was a retaliating pressure on his bottom lip. The next thing he felt was an incredible joy surge itself through him because, shit, Patrick was kissing him back. It was indescribable, the happiness and relief that over took him. Patrick’s movements weren’t forced, simply the way Pete was forcing them to be, but independent and chosen, as if this was something Patrick wanted to do as much as Pete.

The final thing Pete felt was a sharp and precise pain on the side of his face. He wrenched himself up, cradling the side of his face, to see Patrick had sprung off the bed and was now standing like a startled gazelle.

“What the fuck.” He said. Stated. Nothing more than that. It was the only way Pete could’ve described it. So painfully calm, collected.

“Patrick, I’m so sorry I didn’t know what I was- I’m so sorry.” Pete was trying to fight it but an unmistakable pleasure was clawing at the sides of his mouth, pulling it into an ear-splitting grin. Patrick backed out of the room, never once breaking eye contact with Pete’s incredulous and overjoyed expression.

“No, Patrick wait,” Pete said all too calmly “I didn’t mean to!” but Patrick was already gone, stumbling down the stairs and back out onto the pavement, as Pete had stumbled off the blue linen and onto his socked feet.

As Pete stood there, still grinning like an idiot, he felt himself being shrouded in an odd feeling, one that stayed around his heart and neck, closing over his head. Pete felt like he’d just simultaneously done the worst, yet best thing in his life so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! Please say what you thought!


	8. In Which Pete Picks Up A Snail And Gabe Plays Mario

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 50% Backstory, 50% Dialogue, and a whole lot of Gabe Saporta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahahaI'msosorryhahah Yeah I haven't updated in months and I'm sorry if anyone reads this thing like,,,,properly, but I basically wasn't going to finish it, but I read back through and I was like Hey This Is Not The Bads so yeah thank for staying if you have (plz comment if you have bc im p sure no one has) and welcome if you're new!

Gabe Saporta was not an idiot. He was clumsy, forgetful, and even sometimes a bit confused, but if there was one thing he could do, it was read Pete Wentz like a book.

 

The two had met in primary school, second grade, after Pete had been kicked out his previous school for getting into too many scraps. Pete was the small, angry, new one and Gabe was the tall, relaxed, funny one (with a sister in the higher class! (gasp!)), and the boring majority of Miss Marauder’s class naturally dragged them together into an inseparable friendship...Well, not quite.

By third grade Pete had built a small clan of Saporta-Slaughterers, whose main purpose in life was to slag off Gabe and steal his jam sandwiches at recess. Pete saw him as a threat, felt that he himself needed to be the class personality (a position Gabe held with confidence), despite the short period of time that he’d been at the school. And Gabe, well, Gabe did his best to constantly piss Pete off. He’d throw paper airplanes, knock Pete’s bag off his peg, and just generally be the little shit he was (and, to be honest, still is). One mean thing for every jam sandwich stolen (and Pete really liked jam).

Towards the end of the year Pete’s mum had told Gabe’s mum that she could leave Gabe at Pete’s after school, every Thursday. Mrs Saporta had an hour long yoga class and did not want to worry about a large, energetic, eight-year-old wrecking havoc on her house. The two were both very opposed to it at first, but it was upon this first fateful occasion that they learned each other’s shared love for Mario (“Whatcha doooin’?” “Playing gameboy, what’s it to you?” “Whatcha plaaaayin’?” “mario. I’m fighting the final bowser.” “You like mario too! Oh man!”), and a promising relationship was born. Gabe’s mum had always resented the digital world, and, at the young age of eight, refused to buy her son a gameboy, so it was then that the two boys came to an agreement. Every Thursday Gabe would bring in two jam sandwiches and a bag of jolly ranchers in exchange for an hour of digital adventure fun of Pete’s gameboy. This wasn’t to say they liked each other, though, much the opposite, if you were to ask the boys. Pete just happened to like something Gabe had, and Gabe just happened to like something Pete had, so they traded. And Pete no-longer stole Gabe’s sandwiches every recess. And Gabe no-longer tripped Pete up when he was leaving school. But they both did plenty of slagging off. Extra - just to make sure their friendship groups knew they weren’t friends with each other.

It was some time in the middle of fourth grade. Gabe’s mum was still doing yoga and Pete’s mum still accommodated, so Pete and Gabe themselves still had their shady agreement. But it was some time in the middle of fourth grade, and Pete came home with a bloody nose and some bloody nuckles, and found Gabe sitting on his doorstep, eating jolly ranchers.

“Oh man, Pete! What happened?!” Pete had gotten into a scrap with Tommy Clarke that day after school, for a misunderstanding involving a coloured eraser and an accused thief. Pete sat down next to Gabe on the front step, the two of them waiting for Pete’s mum to come let them in. Even at the small age of nine, Pete was allowed to walk home on his own, since the school was literally one block from his house. Gabe still waited for a response with excited anticipation, and pouted when it was clear Pete wasn’t gonna talk.

“Was it Tommy again? Did he find out that you stole his eraser?”

“I did _not_ steal his eraser.” They both knew perfectly well that Pete had stolen Tommy Clarke’s eraser, it was actually in his black pack-back at that moment, guiltily collecting dust since last Wednesday’s heist.

“Aren't you gonna get him back?” Gabe had asked, willing Pete into formulating a plan. Pete was about to retell his master plan when the door behind them swung open and Pete’s mother stood smiling ready. Well, smiling until she saw her son, that is.

“Peter! Is this your blood?!” She squawked, grabing Pete by the wrist

“Some of it is…” He said slyly, smiling mischievously at Gabe.

“And your nose! Oh, Peterro, you need to stop doing this!” She howled, dragging him inside.

“Don’t call me that, mom!” Pete grumbled, not quite sure if Gabe knew the meaning of the pet name was “little peter”, but just in case…

Gabe decided to help Pete carry out his revenge plan of action, concluding that, for some reason, he didn’t like Tommy Clarke very much and that his painful, nose-punching, wrath needed to be stopped. After he’d cleaned himself up a bit, Pete told Gabe how he planned to get revenge on Tommy by cutting off his hair while he wasn’t looking, a plan that Gabe readily agreed to. Pete, though, was not very good with scissors and he and Gabe decided that, if Gabe was gonna help, he may as well do the cutting, since he was the one with the steadier hand. This left Pete feeling unhelpful to the team, and since _he_ was the one who was punched and _he_ was the one who came up with the plan that _he_ should do something too. The two thought for a long time about what unthinkable crime Pete would commit, and finally came up with the genius idea of getting a worm from the small grass patch in the yard, sneaking inside to where the bags were during recess, and putting the animal in Tommy Clarke’s ham and avocado sandwich. It was amazing, unbeatable, and completely fail safe.

The plan was carried out over the course of the next week. Gabe struggling to get close enough behind Tommy Clarke without him realising, and Pete failing to find any worms, slugs, or snails for three days straight. On Thursday, though, during golden time, Gabe took a pair of safety scissors with him to the sitting mat, and despite the bluntness of the blades, managed to sneakily chop a sizable chunk of Tommy Clarkes’s little surfer dude hair style, before Gabe’s victim started wailing and Gabe was taken to the principal's office, and, of course, blamed everything on Pete. Pete, who, even at that age, could pretty much talk his way out of anything and said something like “Gabe’s not good at cutting and he slipped when trying to cut out a square”. The tired, worn down principal convinced himself to believe the boys, and let this one slide (much to the despair of Tommy Clarke’s mother). And, just as their luck was that week, Pete found a snail the very next day. Not quite a worm, but it was slimy and disgusting and Tommy Clarke wouldn’t want to eat it. The plan was carried out that recess, Pete sneaking inside first, Gabe in tow. Pete plonked the snail onto the open sandwich and frantically zipped up the back pack to cover up the crime scene. Pete and Gabe had lunch together that day. Not because they liked each other, just because they wanted to see if their plan had worked. And when the shrill scream was heard from across the playground, Pete grinned like he’d won the lottery; the first Pete/Gabe high-five was clapped into existence.

After that, Pete and Gabe were almost inseparable, they somehow managed to spend all the time they had together, even though neither really intended it to happen that way. Pete was the main culprit, he always came to Gabe with his worries and whims, dragged him into the principal's office more times than either of them could remember, but their misadventures had taught Gabe more than he ever wanted to know about Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third. He knew him well enough to know when Pete was hungry, or tired, or secretly excited, or pissed off at someone he wasn’t supposed to be pissed off at. Most off all, though, he knew when Pete’s issues were Pete Issues and when Pete’s issues were Issue Issues, when something was really up, and right now? well.

 

x

 

Nine years later, Gabe got a call at about ten to ten, Saturday, from a hidden number (not that it mattered, he knew exactly who it was)

“Pete.” He greeted, sitting down slowly, already knowing that this would be a conversation to remember.

“ _Hey Gabey-Baby._ ”

“Peter-Panda, you seem happy!” Pete hadn’t called him that in about four months - something had definitely happened

“ _You can tell, huh?_ ”

“Panda, I can read you like a fuckin porno.” Pete’s characteristic guffaw sounded metally through the phone, but it was good to hear, and Gabe was glad Pete was laughing again.

“ _Dude, you don’t even read pornos, you look at them_.”

“And you’d know, wouldn’t you.”

“ _Fuck off, man._ ” Pete responded throughout giggles

“So what’s up, anyway?” [Better get straight to the point, this’ll be a long one]

“ _Yeah…_ ” Pete giggled again, and Gabe heard some rustling on the other side of the line “ _I did something kinda funny…_ ”

“Pete…?” Gabe said warningly. He wasn’t usually the Mum in the relationship, but he fulfilled his role when he was needed.

“ _I totally kissed Patrick_.” followed by more curly giggles

“Well _done,_ man! Look who’s finally getting some!” [Pete’s got some explaining to do]

“ _Wait, no, shut up, this is really bad._ ”

“Br-”

“ _I Fuckin’ kissed Patrick Stumpf, man, jesus christ, jesus, jesus,_ ”

“Woah. Calm down. Tell me what happened.” Gabe loved to mess with Pete, but something was wrong this time, and messing had its limits (as he had been finding out all too frequently recently)

“ _Well, ok._ ” Pete swallowed heavily “ _We were on my bed,_ ” Gabe thought about saying something like “keep it PG”, but then Pete started breathing weirdly and his attention was drawn

“Deep breaths, man, deep breaths. It’s cool.”

“ _Yeah, cool, ok, ok. We were on my f-fuckin’ bed, and then- then he asked me what i thought_ love _was_ ,” Pete’s voice became suddenly floaty, and Gabe scratched his forehead tiredly “ _and I - I couldn’t help myself Gabe, I couldn’t, and I rolled over...onto him, Gabe._ ”

“Uh-huh...then what?”

“ _And he kissed me back Gabe, he_ did, _I felt it._ ” [Pete you’re confusing me] Pete was insistent, as if he was trying to convince himself, rather than Gabe

“Great! Then...what’s the problem?”

“ _He_ hates _me, Gabe, he_ hates _me, He fucking hates me,_ ” Pete became desperate again, and frustration boiled from the phone. Gabe sighed heavily and, piecing together the things Pete had told him about Patrick, his religion, the things he’d said, Gabe understood fully.

“Nah, Pete, he doesn-”

“ _Shut the fuck up Gabe. Y- Y’know what? I don’t- I don’t even care I- I want to hate him...even half as much as I hate myself, but I- I_ love _hi-_ ”

“No, you fucking _don’t_ , ok. Love takes time and love takes effort. I’ve seen my mom married to enough people to know this, Pete, you are _not_ in love with him.” Pete stayed silent “Hey, you probably could, if he’d let you, but you _don’t_. You’ve spent so long acting a love-struck ass-plate that you’ve even convinced yourself you're one. It’s _ok_. The hurt _won’t_ last.” Gabe was suddenly angry for a reason he couldn’t quite say, but he knew that he was right in this one, rare though it might be, he knew he was

“ _Fuck you, Gabe, like you know what you’re talking about..._ ” But they both knew that Pete knew that Gabe was right, and it was helpful for Pete to be told this, even if he might not appreciate it at this tender time.

“Look. I’m gonna help you outta this one, ok? We’re- we’re gonna do the Operation: Get Your Dumb Ass Over Patrick Stump,” (Pete subconsciously made a “fff” noise after Gabe said Stump) “and it’s gonna be fuckin’ sick. We’re gonna have, have slumber parties, and- watch movies, and, and talk about how boys are gross and ruin our lives and us girls should stick together.” Pete giggled

“ _Sisters before Misters, Gabey._ ” His voice sounded a lot further away than it had been, and all of a sudden Gabe found himself choking up

“And we’re gonna get you some new fucking friends because the ones you have right now are shit and you deserve so much better, and fuck Patrick for being a dick, you’re better than that, Pete, better.”

“ _Gabe, no…_ ” Pete still felt protective over Patrick, found himself defending him against Gabe’s harsh words “ _it’s...not his fault, he’s-_ ” but then he stopped, realising he didn't have anything left to say.

“No, Pete. You’ve gotta move on. It’ll help, I promise.” There was quiet but the sound of the beeping from Gabe’s washing machine

“ _Ok. I- I’ll try._ ” It was a lie. They both knew it was a lie; Pete was a terrible liar, but neither boy had any strength left to persist.

“Thank you. Thanks, Panda, thank you.”

“ _I’ll see you Monday, K?_ ” Gabe accepted the subtle “please don’t come and see me tomorrow, I’ll be wallowing in my own shame and sadness” and hung up with a

“Ok, bye.”

[Shit. This boy is _so_ fucked]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the readings! Tell me what you think?


	9. In Which Pete Needs A Pen And Patrick Feels Like An Egg Shell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'll meet a gr8 character in this chapter shes 100%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eehh I don't really like this one but stuff happens so I guess it's ok!

“ _Hey, Trickster! ‘Sup?_ ”

“Oh, uh, hey, Casey, how’re- how are you?”

“ _Not too bad, not too bad. Why’d ya call?_ ”

He _was_ going to tell her, honestly, he was, buuuuuuuut-

“I- I was just...calling to say hi, y’know?” Casey sighed at Patrick’s somewhat disappointing reply

“ _I’ll be right over._ ”

“No, Kay, w-” The dial tone cut him off, and Patrick sighed and rubbed his eyes. Tired wasn’t really an emotion he was feeling any more, but it was easy to turn the nervous bubbles in his stomach into apathy. He sat on his bed with his head in his hands, and tried to remind himself that his reactions were unwarranted and that he was over reacting, but struggled between his other thoughts of sharp teeth and choppy hair.

It was Sunday now, and tomorrow was the start of the last week of school, before they were let out for Christmas, and Patrick could not _wait_. Thanksgiving had come and gone all too quickly, and Patrick craved release. He just wanted to wake up at 12:30 every morning, have cereal for Dinner, wear the same hoodie for four days straight without taking it off...stuff like, not having to worry about hiding his hair- be on his _own_ for once in his fucking life. He felt like Holidays were his cigarettes, and the weekends were his nicotine patches. But, dammit, sometimes patches just aren’t enough.

Patrick thought about venturing into the living room to tidy up the piano piece he was working on (Casey lived about half an hour away, and while Patrick pretended he didn’t want her company, he was pretty much dying for he to arrive- he needed to pass the time), but couldn’t find it in himself to possibly see one of the members in his family, after what he’d j- no, noTHING. Instead, he sat mopily, with his guitar, on the side of his bed, strumming in a Don’t-Feel-Sorry-For-Me-Wait-No-Do sort of fashion.

 

x

 

“Heya, Alfred!” oh shit

“Hi! Casey!” Patrick quickly abandoned his guitar and turned his back on his bedroom door (and the voices coming from down stairs). There was more muffled chatter, then approaching plods coming up to the hallway and finally, into his bedroom

“Now. Tell me what the fuck is wrong.”

 

Patrick stood slowly and turned around, with his hands in his hoodie pockets, making sure not to look his friend in the eye.

“Who let you in?” He mumbled

“Alf.” Casey replied, unimpressed, but this did spark Patrick’s attention

“Alf, really? Crap, he’s supposed to be in the bath!” Patrick checked his watch quickly “Fucking Spencer, never doing what he supposed to fucking be doing, DAD!” He yelled, finding the solution

“My ears, Patrick.” Casey reminded him calmly.

“WHAT IS IT, SON?” David shouted back in response.

“SPENCER DIDN’T RUN ALF’S BATH, AND HE’S GONNA FLIP IF HE’S NOT IT IN IT BY FIVE THIRTY.”

“THANKS, SON, I’LL GO DO THAT NOW.” Casey sighed a ‘Ok. Now that’s done’ sort of sigh and sat heavily on Patrick’s blue sheets. She gestured a purple-clawed hand to the chair and desk opposite her, then looked expectantly at Patrick. He sheepishly complied and pulled the chair out to face Casey. They sat staring at each other in silence for a minute or two before Casey got tired of it.

“So are you gonna tell me what you did and why you’re so,” she gestured up and down Patrick, searching for the right adjective “sorry for yourself?” Patrick thought for a long time about whether he wanted to come out and tell her immediately, sitting there with his hands locked together, and decided keeping his thoughts to himself for a bit longer was definitely the way to go.

“Effie?” Casey nudged. The nickname had sprung from Casey’s use of Stump over Stumpf, and Patrick’s habit of telling people they can discard the last letter of his name. Casey had decided to put the letter to use elsewhere. Patrick looked at a darkish stain on the floor and put one of his hands behind his head.

“Pete...didsomethingreallywierdidon’twannatalkaboutit….” Patrick trailed off quietly and hoped and hoped that Casey would not ask him again…..buuuuuut, knowing Casey, it wasn’t to be.

“Well I’m sorry, kid, but I came here with a purpose and I’m afraid it’s gonna be fulfilled.” Casey tried to remain looking unimpressed, verging on concerned, but she found it hard to suppress her boiling excitement; she was about to get _dirt_.

“O-k….okokok, well,” Patrick stood and began pacing the length of his bed, tugging his nails with his teeth while he thought “Ok, He, uh, Pete, he, um...well- you know what? Ok? I can’t tell you, I can’t say it.” Patrick stopped pacing and faced Casey head on, took a more explanatory tone and began flailing his hands erratically “And I know; I’m overreacting, it’s not that bad, it was just a kiss, y’kno-”Oh _, Fuck_. Patrick standing Casey sitting, they stayed locked in wide-eyed horrification, for far longer than could be described as normal. Patricks jaw started wobbling after his first blink and he tore away from the stare, clutching his sides

“Oh, My _God_ , Patrick!” Casey made it sound more like Patrick had gotten onto the cheerleading team than that all his morals were being tested by a dashing, if small, half Jamacian man that made it felt like his lower intestine was trying to eat the rest of his organs, and Patrick wasn’t too keen. Casey sprung up and threw her arm round him

“That’s, woah, Patrick! Shit! I mean, _I can’t say I’m surprised_ , but-” Patrick cut her off with the choked up despair in his throat.

“Stop it, please, stop it.” He mumbled away from her

“Patrick...” Casey half laughed and half whimpered “It’s - ok. You don’t have to be,” She gestured up and down him again “ _Patrick_ , about this.” Patrick turned his head to face her and pushed his glasses up his nose.

“I don’t- I- I don’t think I can- I can’t,”

“ _Calm down_.” she paused a moment “Pete kissed you; so what? I mean, _I was right_ but, so what? You don’t need to _tell_ anyone!” she patted him on the back gently and tipped her head to the side “And you don’t need to feel... _guilty_ about anything, I mean, you don’t need to feel guilty anyway but I know how you are, but you don’t need to feel guilty, because you didn’t, y’know, kiss him back! Right?” Patrick held her stare for a few seconds, but collapsed onto his bed, cradling his face in his hands.

“Wait- you mean you-?” Casey broke into an earsplitting grin (thankfully Patrick’s face was in his hands and he couldn’t see this insensitive display), but was friend enough to sit herself down next to him.

“Tricky...don’t...don’t feel bad…”

“I feel like- I feel like I’ve betrayed... _everyone_ , I-” Patrick’s clenched fist shook on his knee as he spoke

“No, Patrick, no. You need to-” She took a breath “It might be time for you to...flip the penny over.”

Patrick looked up from the floor to express his confusion to Casey

“Y’know...try to... _empathise_ with, I don’t know...people like...Pete.”

 

x

 

Monday came way too quickly for Pete, he hadn’t had nearly enough time to think about Patrick over the weekend. He couldn’t decide between the Avoid-And-Never-Speak-To-Again approach or the Act-Like-Nothing-Happened-Hey-What’s-Up method. But Pete’s question was answered for him Monday morning, before he’d even seen evidence of Patrick being in school. He traipsed to his locker, somehow having arrived early to school, only to find a small blue note had been pushed through the grate.

_what does mi ca hab mean_

If there were six words that could have filled Pete up like a balloon, he would not have thought that they were those, on the piece of card he held in his hand. Of course he knew exactly who it was from and what they were referring to. At the time, he hadn’t thought asking his mum for a tea cake would remain as such a vivid memory two days later, but Patrick Stumpf had a way of wriggling himself in no matter what. Pete immediately began patting himself down, trying to find a pen to reply with, but to no avail. He then moved on to scrabbling about in locker, but he still came to the same result

“How can I have so many fucking notebooks but no fucking writing implements.” But the universe had a sour sense of humor, and did it’s best to contradict him when it could. A dark hand, wielding a black gel pen appeared in front of his nose, only just saving him from emptying his backpack on the floor

“Hey Petey! Looking for one of these?”

“Kira.” Pete snatched at the pen in front of him but it was withdrawn before he could get it

“Watcha writing Petey?” Having his memory jogged of Kira’s required ignorance in this situation, Pete was also reminded of his loyalty to Patrick

“Oh, uuh, nothing, shut up.” he slammed his locker shut (note tucked in safely) and pressed his back to it. Oh, how he _longed_ to tell Kira everything that he’d done over the weekend ‘ _hey Kira I kissed your boyfriend and he kissed me back and he tastes like apricots and toothpaste and vanilla and did you know that he likes digestive biscuits and his dad makes rubbish pizza and he swears a lot when he’d tired and he doesn’t speak Patwa but he is curious about it and he has three younger brothers and I think I love him but I might not and I kissed him.'_  Yeah. Patrick might get a small bit annoyed

“Awww, Petey, don’t be like that.” Kira pouted then giggled, a noise that Pete truly despised

“Where, uh, where’s Tr- uh, Patrick?” (Pete thought himself rather good at casual diversions in this kind of situation)

“Uh, I don’t know, I don’t think he’s here yet,” _yes he is he gave me a note_ “but I don’t care, I wanna talk to you.” Kira moved forward towards Pete, who was already pressed against his locker, so was unable to move back and further

“Kira what the fuck, you have a boy- boyfriend.” _you have Patrick_

“Oh yeah...” She backed off and Pete relaxed slightly “but I-” Kira was silenced by a shrill, piercing ring. _Saved by the motherfucking bell, eh?_

“Sorry, gotta run! Class!” And, as the slick fuck he was, snatched the black gel pen as he ran off, leaving a bewildered, if confused, Kira in his wake.

 

Monday was itchy for Patrick. After having spoken to Casey the previous day, he’d thought it was ok to ask Pete the question that had been bugging him since Saturday morning. He got to school extra early to carry out his quiet plan. He couldn’t bring himself to talk to Pete in person without either bursting into tears or ~~kissing him again~~ doing something equally drastic (what the fuck was that? That’s- That’s not good). So he itched about until the end of the day, desperately fighting his childish apprehensiveness, waiting for the second he could check his locker for a possible response. It was actually on his way to find a reply from the boy that he’d kissed in the past forty hours, that he first saw his girlfriend in the past seventy two.

“Oh, uh, Kira!”

“Patrick,” She pecked him on the cheek tiredly, a little too much of what Patrick didn’t need right then.

“I’m happy to see you, lion!” Patrick felt deflated, and, reasonably, wanted some inflating.

“Uuhhh, yeah, i gotta run, Pete!” Kira waved over Patrick’s head to whom Patrick presumed was Pete

“Ohhh shit, shithshitshitshit. Bye kira I’ll see you later bye.” Patrick fled away from his least favourite distraction, and his least useful method of release, toward his locker and the school exit. The encounter had been horrifying. Patrick felt even emptier than before, wanting to sink to the bottom of the sea before anyone could drown him further.

For some reason it was relieving to get to his locker, to the familiar scent of Lucky’s peach deodorant. It was PhysEd. that day, and she always carried an extra deodorant for afterwards. As it was the end of school, Lucky was actually home (and Patrick liked to think she was waiting for him at his locker).

“Heya, little guy.” She greeted him, and Patrick sunk into her open arms.

“Everyone is stupid.” although his stomach was still itching.

“I know, little guy, I know.” Lucky some how had this way of just knowing when something was up with Patrick, and, unlike, Casey, did her best not to pry. “Sorry, kid.” She patted his head gently and rested her chin on his head.

“Trick? I gotta go...detention," She muffled a giggle "...but I’ll text you, when I’m home, and I’ll remind you to brush your teeth and get a good night’s sleep, ok? Sleep is your friend right now, pal.”

“Ok…” Patrick moaned, and pushed himself up off Lucky’s torso, and her peachy scent

“Bye, kid.” And she paced off. Patrick then remembered his main purpose of coming to his locker and, with a sudden surge of energy, unlocked his locker. What he found was the most liberating thing he’d seen all day and filled him right up. A small scrap of lined paper, snagged on a bolt on the back of his door.

  
_it means ‘can i have’ in patwa :)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please tell me what you thought!


	10. In Which Patrick Loses A Bet And Lucky's Hair Is Disgruntled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, uh, the second half is kinda waffling a bit and it's really not that important but it was fun to write~enjoy!

“Oh, hey Dad.”

“Hi, Son. How’re you feeling?”

Monday evening, around quarter to eleven. Patrick had spent four o’clock to ten o’clock tucked away in his bedroom, moping and flopping about. In fact, the only reason he even managed to emerge was when he thought he thought he’d see the fewest family members. Unfortunately, he couldn't help running into the one he probably needed most.

“I’m cool.” Patrick nodded, lying through his teeth. Patrick’s dad was on the couch, watching a recorded hockey match. Iron Chef was on in ten minutes, and Patrick really hoped the game would rap up soon. It was the final, and Patrick had his eye on one of the contestants he hoped would win.

“That’s great, Rick. I was worried that something was troubling you; you haven’t really been out of your room lately and I wondered if something was wrong.” David often took confessions at the church, so this made him very good at sensing when something was wrong, and, even more so- getting what _was_ wrong out of people.

“No, not really, just a bit tired. Waiting for school to end.” Patrick, though, was immune. Years of " _Patrick, where did that chocolate bar go?"_  (or more recently: " _Patrick, where did that fifty dollar bill go?"_ ) had taught him how to easily dodge and side-step accusations.David tilted his head to the side, contemplating whether or not to believe Patrick. He mainly decided that no, Patrick was definitely not telling the truth, but he’d have to get it out of him in a different way.

“Hey, uh, son, Iron Chef’s on in about ten minutes, and I know how you like that show, and you used to...with…” Patrick winced as David trailed off “So wanna join your old dad on the couch? Maybe it’ll release some school stress.” Patrick’s mouth agreed with a smile, and the boy plodded over to couch and dropped his weight.

They watched the last ten minutes of the game together, Patrick not really understanding what was going on, and David occasionally making distressed gestures and small anguished noises. In the end, Patrick _thinks_ their team won? He wasn’t sure if the display of fist pumping when the blue guys scored at the end was a good thing or a bad thing, but made no point of waiting to find out.

“So who are you betting on then?” David asked once the channel had been switched. It was the final of the season and there were only four contestants left. Patrick had his eye on this woman Mei, whom he’d picked out at the beginning of the season, and, to his surprise, had just about made it this far

“The, uh, one with the black ponytail…there.” Patrick indicated at the screen nonchalantly, and his dad inclined his head

“Ahhh, I see...hmmm, well, you have an unfair advantage, ‘cause you've seen them since the beginning, buuuut, I’ll try my luck with…that one. There”

“Kevin? Really? Ok…” Patrick retorted playfully. It was only a subtle gesture, but Patrick’s slight amiability made something in David swell happily.

“What’re we wagering?” Patrick asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Hmmm...how about…If _you_ win, I give you the bag of Eucharists I got from church Monday.” Patrick’s eyes widened, astounded, like the ones belonging to a child who had just witnessed their older brother steal a cookie from the cupboard.

“You stole Eucharists?! Dad!” David chuckled, and put his hands together. They both knew that Eucharists were not the most remarkable prize- they were dry, tasteless, and kinda an effort to eat, but they came at such a cost, and one couldn’t achieve them lightly.

“They were spares! Michael over ordered and we had some extra packets!” David grinned as he wriggled from accusation, and Patrick returned the gesture.

“Ok, ok, Eucharists for me, aaand...what about if you win?”

“Well…” David knew it was a gamble, what he was about to explain could either make him and Patrick closer, or make his son retreat even further into his shell. He did understand that just by bringing it up Patrick would become uncomfortable, but he had to try something “If I win...you have to tell me what’s bothering you.” It wasn’t a question, or a suggestion, but an answer. A final command.

“Oh…” Patrick did everything David expected him to. He shrunk back. Visibly. And kind of...put himself on standby for a few moments. “Ok.” Patrick turned his head back to the screen, heart racing. He knew that if he lost, he really _would_ have to tell his dad... _something_ ; David certainly wouldn't take no for an answer. Patrick brought his feet up off the floor and tucked them under his butt, and pulled his grey hoodie over his knees (fun fact: something Pete called the “Patrick burrito” (WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT HIM RIGHT NOW, PATRICK? _STOP IT!_ )).

 

3 minutes in. A buzz against Patrick’s thigh.

 **Lucky B) 11:03:** you alright, kiddo? xx

Patrick stared at the message for a few blank moments before discarding the phone to a spot next to him on the couch. He couldn't deal with lying to Lucky right then, and telling the truth didn't seem too attractive either.

 

The two of them, father and son, stayed in their positions for the twenty two minutes it took the program to reach the final judging stage, each holding their breath for extremely similar reasons. Patrick crossed his toes under himself.

 _“And the winner of this season’s Iron Chef is…” fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck “Kevin Rilst. Well done Kevin, we’re all really proud of you._ ” A smallish chill ran through Patrick’s spine, and David’s relief took a similar path. Patrick felt swamped. All his thoughts were whirling around inside his head and he scrunched up his face. David shuffled. Cleared his throat. Thought over what he was going to say

“Hey, uh, how about I give you those Eucharists anyway, pal?” He suggested, warming up to his prize with a break in the silence

“I’m...not sure you’re going to want to.” Patrick responded to his knees finally. David tilted his head in confusion, trying to keep the situation as calm as possible.

“Patrick?” The boy in question took a deep breath in and stood up, planning to escape from the room as soon as he had revealed his secret to his father. He paced quietly to the bottom of the staircase, but before he made his way up, he turned to face David finally.

“Dad? I think...I’m agnostic.”

 

x

 

Lucky squirmed. Casey kept her stare focused down on her blank page as her face reddened

“ _Stop it stop it._ ” she hissed to Lucky, sitting beside her with a shit eating grin.

Detention, the two of them, for two reasons. One: they skipped sports together, and two: so that they could go buy wine from Thomas Ringwell and Apollo Flemming, who were the only two people in the year who were cool/held back enough to buy alcohol. They had themselves a bit of a black market going and, naturally, our girls would do anything to get involved (“Why can’t we help? We could actually do the deals so _your_ asses won’t get busted! We’ll only take like...20 percent. Each.”). Now, the latter offence was something the school would actually have to _deal_ with if the news got out, so instead, one hour of Monday afternoon detention for an entire semester. Unfortunately, the school had failed to recognise that there was only one Monday left of this semester, and so the girls were not too bothered about the whole ordeal (nor keen to remind the school).

 

“ _It. Tickles._ ” Casey writhed about helplessly as Lucky showed no remorse in poking her side when the pale arms fled and a space was reveal. Discreetly, of course, for fear of unplugging Miss Demora’s hooked nose from _Gardener’s World: The largest vegetables and when to grow_   _them_ , at the front of the classroom. It wasn’t long before Casey found her own way to retaliate. As soon as an opening was available her hand flew up to Lucky’s head and swept through the perfectly crafted hair, completely ruffling and wasting about a can and a half of hair spray. A horrified squeal echoed through the room and the hooked nose shot up

“ _Girls._ ”

“Sorry Miss Demora.” They both giggled, and the beak nestled back into it’s magazine.

And so the three sat. Getting redder and redder and smileyier and smileyier and more fed up and more fed up. For exactly 17 minutes more. Then a sigh

“You know what, girls? It’s four twenty,” Both girls immediately spiralled into fits of badly concealed laughter and aching sides “And I just found a great pumpkin pie recipe.” Miss Demora winked crustily, as if she was letting them in on some fruity secret and they weren't actually allowed to know that   _Gardener’s World: The largest vegetables and when to grow_   _them_ had a good pumpkin pie recipe “Why don’t we all just go home, get some rest, and think about it all tomorrow.” Miss Demora clearly didn’t want to be taking the Monday afternoon detention and her partly disgusted glare didn’t do well to convince Lucky and Casey otherwise.

“Ok. Thanks Miss.” the two of them echoed, and high-tailed it out of the geography classroom as fast as they could, exploding into hilarity as soon as the door had shut behind them

“Girls! Do you mind?!” Came from behind the door and the two of them managed to scrape themselves together.

“Wanna go, punk?” Casey mumbled at the classroom, with the response of no fist fight, but and affectionate giggle on Lucky’s behalf.

“So, we’re going back to mine, right?” Casey grinned

“Yeah!" Lucky paused for a moment, considered "Isn’t there a new episode of Misfits today?” Casey loved Misfits. The band, the T.V. show, the goddamn personality type for fuck’s sake. The word had become to her what some might describe as a “problematic fave”. Casey’s face dropped to neutral as she processed what Lucky had said

“What.” Lucky stared back at Casey with the same blank expression

“Yeah. New episode. November seventeenth, five thirty. I read it on facebook.” Lucky reassured her

“Oh, my god...no, Lucky, NO! You don't understand! I haven’t even taped it! This is a di-” Casey stopped suddenly, and looked up from her rant. Her face curled into a smile as her eyes gradually made contact with Lucky's “You don’t even have facebook, you little motherfuck!” Lucky immediately plunged into fits of giggles

" _Lucky!"_ Casey whined dramatically as the pair stumbled along the otherwise quiet school hall. The two of them might have found it almost eerie, if they weren’t preoccupied with hysterically laughing at each other.

“I do it because of your _face_ , C.” Lucky squealed when Casey ruffled her hair for a second time

“I was so scared! I thought I was gonna miss it!” Casey grumbled amiably between giggles.

They composed themselves, for the umpteenth time that day, and set off towards their destination.

“Hey, uh, wait up, I gotta text the P-mobil.” Lucky smile faded as she remember the state Patrick was in. Casey halted her walk towards the school’s exit with a nod and worried sort of sigh.

“That kid’s in a bad place.”

“You got that right…” Lucky mumbled as her fingers flicked across the screen of her phone

_You alright, kiddo? xx_

...

-!

m e s s a g e  n o t  s e n t

Lucky sighed quietly and pocketed the phone

“They need to get better signal in this building…”

"Don't worry about it, hun. Little Trickster can take care of himself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!


	11. In Which Pete Drinks Starbucks And Patrick Speaks His Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of an extension on the last chapter than a chapter in itself. We'll catch up with king wentz next time I promise ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a shorter chapter this time, team, I been really busy lately sorry

Patrick slammed his back to his bedroom door with a sigh, heart still racing but glad to have gotten over that hump. He sewed his eyes shut and sunk down the wooden frame shakily, and stayed shrunken on the floor until he was rudely alerted by his back pocket. Patrick sprung up, and fumbled his phone into his hand.

 

Instagram- **t(-.-t)** (@kingwentz) uploaded a photo

 

Patrick had forgotten that he still had Pete on post alert. To be honest he wasn’t really sure why he’d done it in the first place. He’d made the kind of excuse to yourself that you make when you know you should go for a run but oh it’s cold outside and you’re looking great anyway and you’ll start exercising tomorrow. Patrick had fooled himself into thinking that having an odd boy that you’d met about two months ago who seems to want to completely monopolise you on post alert was a good idea. It wasn’t.

Patrick swallowed guiltily and tapped the notification with a hesitant thumb. A wave of concealed delight echoed through him curiously as the photo appeared. It depicted Pete and Gabe in a christmas like setting, brightly lit fairy lights here and there and Pete had put a crappy filter on it that made it look like they were the eyes of the devil. Gabe’s arm was outstretched towards the screen and in his other hand he held a red Starbucks coffee cup with “baby” written on it in scrawling script. Pete was scrunched up next to him, with a dumb fucking grin plastered on his head too. He also held a red cup, but instead had “girl” in equally messy writing. The caption below read somehow obnoxiously “Over rated my ass ”.

Without really thinking, Patrick hastily took a screenshot of the overexposed snap, not anticipating the guilty grumble that tickled through his stomach once a “screenshot saved” notification appeared on his screen. He quickly switched to his gallery, ready to delete the shameful image, but his thumb hovered over the delete button far too long for him to be sure demolition was his core intention. Somehow Patrick felt the photo was meant for him, though he wasn’t sure why. He stared for a moment (or ten) at the picture, but a series of three small knocks on his bedroom door sent his heart beat spiralling out of proportion again. Patrick sprung like a deranged cat from his bed once more, before scuttling to the door and apprehensively opening up.

“Patrick, are you- oh.” David Stump stood at the door hesitantly like an unbidden vampire, looking at Patrick with a...worrying expression. Not an angry or upset, but more kind of...concerned. Patrick swallowed and thought for a moment whether he wanted to say anything, feeling as if he should. The distance between them made the boy feel guilty, as if it was filled with the shards of childhood structure and shattered bits of unspoken trust of conformity.

“We, um- sit.” David coughed and trickled into the room, looking about as if he’d never entered before. Patrick abided quickly, and pounced to the edge of his bed, apprehensive.

“I know you probably don’t want to, but we need to speak about this.” Eye contact was sustained, although silently, both expecting the other to continue.

Father instincts kicking in, David resigned himself to a one sided conversation

“Patrick, I’m not angry- I’m anything but angry, Rick, but I need to-” feeling the levels between them, David pulled the white desk chair up to himself, evening the two of them out

“I’m just...surprised, that’s all, I want to know you know what you’re committing to.” Patrick’s head tilted the subtlest of degrees to the left “I hate to make it so blunt, but _hell_ Patrick, purgatory.” _Hell_. It was such a gargantuan word. It slapped Patrick in the face. The expression which Patrick blossomed from the statement struck an odd note deep in David and all of a sudden he was looking down at his seven year old son, who’s just been told the consequences of stealing and piece of cake. To be honest, Patrick felt like the character too. David sprung onto his knees in front of the boy, an arm around his back and adamant to sustain their eye contact.

“You know what the Bible tells us, if you do not believe in the Lord you will be penalised, I don’t mean to scare you.” Patrick flinched his head to the side, trying to think about anything but his current situation.

“Look, son. I’m going to be very honest with you now, alright?” David’s voice lowered “I don’t _know_. No one does. We all- we all just pretend we do, alright? Now that you’re growing up, meeting people with different views, it’s perfectly normal to experience conflict in your beliefs. Of course you don’t _know_. But, surely, better to be safe, in the eyes of the Lord, than sorry, in the hand of the Devil? I’m not ordering you around, but you _can_ just choose to believe.” The silence set in and so did Patrick’s features as he tasted what his father had just told him. “Yeah?”

“Dad, you’re right. None of us _know_. But we all _think_. And what I _think_ is that God, is, in fact, not real. I know you’re surprised, I’m surprised, ok? But I can’t just “choose” to believe. No, I don’t wanna go to hell but I’ll take that chance if it means being comfortable with who I am? You understand right? I don’t want to feel restricted by things...I don’t even care about! I don’t wanna be normal, I don’t _care_. I just- Hey. Maybe it’ll all change in a month’s time, who knows? God? Maybe? I don’t think so. Look Dad, I guess what I’m saying is I need you to understand this about me because it’s important to you. I’m not going to change because of this, but I think...I think this is the way I will be...for now, at least. Th-... Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! Please leave feedback!


	12. In Which Patrick Is Angsty And Pete Gets Dragged (Literally)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeheehee I'm excited for this one   
> Also I know I like apologise every time for not updating but honestly I'm just awful at this and I probably won't be able to get my shit together like ever so sorry about that I guess...you might have to expect long times between each upload (sorry)  
> anyway! On with it!

“I’m telling you, Pete, tangerines are nasty as fuck.”

“Well I’m telling  _ you, _ Gabe, that you’re clearly blind. In your mouth.” Pete accused his companion as the two of them ambled down the school corridor to their last lesson of the semester. Pete happily shoved the final tangerine segment into his mouth, but Gabe just shook his head in utterly unimpressed confusion, not even gracing Pete’s comment with a response. Pete, on the other hand, didn’t really care to reevaluate his stupidity, having caught sight of a much more exciting distraction; a very short blond boy, head and hat down, walking with a purpose in the opposite direction. Pete almost leapt onto Gabe

“Oh my god it’s Patrick.” 

“You’ve said that every time we’ve seen that boy this week.” Gabe responded with effort as he attempted to extract Pete from his arm.

“Yes but  _ he’scomingtowardsusyoufuck.” _ Pete hissed and tightened his bond. Gabe persisted.

“Then do us all a favour and stop acting like a lost four year old!” Pete heeded Gabe’s advice and sprang aways, as not to obstruct the oncoming Patrick. Unfortunately, his ninja like stealth and agility failed him, and the subject looked at him with a start.

“Pete.” he frowned, then his face set into a more determined expression. He looked up at Pete, once down the hallway in the direction he was going, then once more at Pete “We need to talk. Two things.” Pete cocked his head

“Uhm...now?” Patrick looked down the hallway again

“Yes.” And with that, Patrick promptly grabbed Pete by the tie and began to drag him like a little dog on a lead. Which was...Ok, Pete enjoyed it...perhaps a little too much. Gabe, however, who’s existence hadn’t seemed to even have been acknowledged during this exchange (like what the hell, Stump?) was not satisfied with this parting and snachted Pete’s wrist with snake like reflexes

“ _ Pete?!” _ It was more like an instruction or reminder than a notification, but was clearly not recieved so. Pete looked back at his forgotten friend, but not for more than to wriggle his hand free and offer a happy shrug. As one final gesture, he flashed Gabe his winning grin as he disappeared around a hallway corner in toe of a small boy who appeared to be far too angry. Gabe merely frowned after the two, perplexed. What was this tiny man going to do to his tiny friend? Operation: Get Pete Over Patrick had been going well so far, but Pete had just gone AWOL. The lasting impression, Gabe thought to himself as he walked unhurriedly to English, was the quiet notion that that was the happiest he’d seen Pete in the last couple weeks. It seemed...unhealthy.

 

x

 

Pete couldn’t say he was thrilled to find he had been dragged into the lost and found cupboard, having hoped for a somewhat juicier location like, say, the janitor’s closet? (If Patrick wanted to go hollywood, please at least do it right.) The lost and found cupboard was full of not much else than lost sport kit and odd socks; not such a desirable location. Pete wasn’t even entirely sure if it was safe to stay in there for a prolonged period, what with all the various mingling B.O.s and the only consistent visitors being forgetful kids and their erratic mothers. But hey, he’d just been dragged about 20 meters by Patrick Stump...he was hardly complaining. Hardly….

“So, um, Patrick…” Pete began. Patrick looked at him as if waiting for Pete to continue, hardly fair since Pete was the dragee “You said you wanted to…”

“Talk, yeah,” Patrick broke eye contact “I uh...I was gonna ask, um,” he ran a hand under his hat “well basically you, uh,” He took his hat off completely. It was a floppy grey one Patrick had gotten from Lucky as a birthday gift last year. It was soft and warm, and now sat at the throne of Patrick’s instagram and facebook profile pictures.  _ Oh shit _ Pete thought  _ this means business _ . “So,” Patrick cleared his throat, changing his scatty manner quite considerably “I told my father that I...no longer really believe in like...god or shit”  _ well...ok...unexpected  _ “He um, it was fine, I think,” Patrick didn’t look too convinced when he swallowed nervously “I mean, I haven’t been able to have a conversation with him that lasted more than ‘hi how was school’ ‘fine thanks’ ‘ok’”  _ brutal, yikes _ “but, but I...think it’ll be ok.”

“Trick I think-” Pete began, but was immediately cut off

“No. You can speak later.  _ I’m _ speaking now.” Patrick spoke to him as if Pete were small boy who somewhat lacked in the manners department. His tone was urgent, demanding, very easy to obey, and if Pete liked it? Well.

“But I feel like he also might...not take it seriously? I don’t really know what I’m saying, but I need, um, I,” Patrick was clearly struggling to communicate what he had in mind. “I need to have someone... _ else _ to let him know it’s not just a thing?” Fortunately enough, Pete’s Patrick translator 2000 was functioning soundly

“So, you’re worried your dad isn’t taking you seriously but also worried that if he did he might be angry, and you need someone to support you through it.” Understandable, since it was David’s entire life that Patrick was shaking his head at. Patrick looked up and half smiled his affirmance with a nod. Even in the short time they had been acquainted, the boys already had a kind of bond of understanding.

“But...where do I come into it?” Pete asked, hoping he already knew “Like, why have I been dragged into the lost and found cupboard if not to make out like the protagonists of a chick flick?” Patches of red crept to Patrick’s ears and cheeks, and he did his best to put any kind of distance between them that he could.  _ Ok, not my best _ Pete told himself in the awkward moments that followed.

“Well…” all of a sudden that scab on Patrick’s knuckle was very interesting “You seem to know about this stuff and… I wanna seem like I know what I’m talking about too...just in case, y’know?” Pete knew exactly

“Yes! I mean, sure I’ll help you out with this!" Pete beamed "It’s really interesting, actually, once you start to really pick it apart. Ok, so let’s start at the beginning; Genesis-”

“Not right now, dumbass” Patrick rolled his eyes with a smile “You think you could break down the entire christian faith for me in like,” He looked at his watch “forty five minutes? Plus, this is pretty new for me...I’m gonna need time.” Then he looked at Pete as if he was confessing a horrible secret and Pete, for seemingly the millionth time, had to fight the urge to hug him.

“Actually, Trick, there’s something else we need to talk about as well. The second thing.” Patrick of course knew that Pete was talking about the same thing he had planned to bring up, and he put his hat back on for reassurance.

“I guess you want an explanation of how I’ve been this past week…” Patrick admitted, looking at a discarded sock to his right “Sorry for like...I don’t know, avoiding you? Man, that sounds so middle school.”

“Wait- no- I was gonna say the same?” It soon became apparent that each boy had been avoiding the other, and in doing so not noticed each other’s actions at all. Pretty much a win win situation but a healthy one? Not really.

“I mean...I’m sorry, Trickster I really am, for like,” Pete sighed; there was no way he could tiptoe round this one “for what I did. It was completely unacceptable, and you didn’t even consent so yeah, sorry, I deserved that slap.”  _ even though you did kiss me back...accident? _

Patrick’s mind flickered towards feigning ignorance- but no, what was the use? He knew that facing this was important, especially for Pete. Besides, what was the worse that could happen? Patrick goes a little red? There are a few awkward pauses?...They kiss again? No. shut up Patrick’s subconscious

“Trick, you ok?” Pete asked the pained expression creeping up on Patrick, thoughts a blaze

“What? No, yeah, sorry just a little- just thinking.” But he didn’t really say any more, which Pete thought was a bit unfair since this was sharing time and if they weren’t gonna be sharing spit they may as well be sharing thoughts...you can imagine the cheeky grin. 

They stood in silence a little more...was it getting a little hot? Their eyes met awkwardly; neither of them wanted to speak. In fact, sharing spit was looking like a more and more appealing option. Pete held Patrick’s gaze a while longer. He couldn’t help but notice the way Patrick’s pointed tongue flickered out of his mouth to moisten his lips. And for some reason Patrick’s scab was irrelevant now and the way Pete’s mouth had parted slightly was much more interesting. And maybe it was because how  _ close _ they were that for a moment Pete didn’t really mind that Patrick wasn’t talking beca-

“You shouldn’t worry about it Pete…”  _ fuuuucking hell seriously? _ “I- It wasn’t like you did something totally radical, like,  it’s a normal thing that people do,” the K Word hung over them like a black cloud “and I...I kissed you back.” and there it was - the puncture and deflation. It was a relief, but nothing that stopped Patrick from going as red as a drag queen’s lips. Or Pete’s tummy from doing happy little flip flops

“Yeah,” Pete smiled at a school jumper lying on the ground; he couldn’t let Patrick know how happy this knowledge had just made him, lest patrick be permanently freaked out. _ So not a complete accident then. _ “But I still shouldn’t have... with Kira and all…”

“Oh...yeah.” In truth, she and Patrick hadn’t really been on the best terms recently. Just yesterday they managed to have a serious argument about rice. Fucking rice! The blandest food in the entire universe! To be honest, Kira seemed to be a little...bored? Was that the right word? In all honesty, Patrick had momentarily forgotten her existence. “I mean...yeah I guess that was a little distasteful of you…” damn. This room was very small. Or maybe they were very close? “And plus I overreacted. It wasn’t  _ that bad.” _ Patrick purred, knowing Pete was close enough to hear his quiet excuse. He was right, but Pete could also hear a little too much of blood pounding in his ears cause  _ close?! _

“Hey, ‘not that bad’? What do you mean ‘not that bad’? I’m pretty damn good if I may say so myself.” Pete uttered, but the feeling behind his words wasn’t really there. It was more kind of focusing on ‘Hey!! look at the way Patrick’s neck moves when he swallows!!!! Omg!!!! Fuck!!!’ Embarrassingly, Patrick’s first instinct was to test Pete’s theory, but perhaps even more so, his reaction to that thought wasn’t fear.

Somehow they had both perpetually spilled into what little space was between them seconds before. Or was it hours? Whatever. Time doesn’t exist. Nor did space, apparently, because now their chests were almost touching. Pete could feel it again. The little patch of urgency sprouting in his stomach as his head inclines. He wasn’t doing that he was NOT doing that it was gravity Pete wasn’t-

 

It was different from how he’d remembered it, Pete’s mouth, it was...firmer, more assured, just like Patrick was this time and to be honest he’s leaned in too. Energy shivered to his fingertips as Pete’s face cushioned his nose, and his mouth fell into the happy softness of Pete’s lip. Pete edged forwards, tilting his head to kiss Patrick again, gently taking his bottom lip between his own two. Pete’s hands came up to hold the sides of Patric'ks face, curling his hair between his fingers in time with the movents of their mouths, and Patrick responded by ever so slightly parting his mouth, inviting Pete to trace his tongue along Patrick’s mouth. He pushed forward again, and now he had Patrick leaning on the wall. By this time his own tongue had retaliated with more intent, mapping out the twists and ridges of Pete’s mouth, licking away all traces of the tangerine he’d eaten just ten minutes before. Energy built. Pete kissed him with increasing urgency, hands roaming his face, under his hat, on his neck. Patrick had been taken for the ride, hardly able to believe he was letting himself do this.

And Pete was…? Well Pete was just  _ melting _ . Clouds of joys burst through him in flourishes and rosets, and he could barely even think over the roaring crowd in his head, cheering him on as he kissed and savoured every last bit of Patrick’s mouth. Or maybe he couldn't think from the lack of oxygen? Whatever, he didn’t want to breath in nasty B.O air when he could be breathing in miles of  _ Paaatttriiiickkk. _ The excitement he was experiencing was unreal, and the only consistent words in his head were  _ PatrickPatrickPatrick _ and  _ HowHowHow.  _

Patrick himself was the one to break them apart, taking a gasp of air against Pete’s panting mouth, rather regrettably he found the warm slickness of Pete much more agreeable than the dry, stale air. Pete, who soon moved his attention back to Trick and his cotton candy mouth, was stopped with a soft, kind, hand on his chin. Pete paused his intent, and finally took a moment to evaluate the situation. Four eyes flickered open

“...do you...want me to stop?”

“...”

“...”

“...no.”

 

x

 

“I’m telling you, he was in such a fucking rage, he grabbed Pete by the  _ tie _ .” Gabe was unable to keep his mouth shut for more than like, 10 minutes at a time, and he found himself in the unfortunate position of sitting next to someone’s three of someone’s besties, all of whom were hungry for dirt. Honestly? there was no question about whether he was gonna. And Gabe had clearly taken a bitching master class.

Lucky frowned and tilted her head, proclaiming that that was indeed odd behaviour for Patrick, and no she didn’t know anything about it. Casey, however looked a little more pensive.

“I remember him saying something just this week about like, ‘finding himself’ or like fuckin’ ... ‘cutting his religious ties’. He seemed pretty intense about it. I don’t know, would he go to Pete for that?” 

“Oh excellent Cassandra! Cutting religious ties exactly sums up Shylock in this scene!” Fortunately this was the only part of Casey’s little explanation that Mrs Segal, the English teacher, had heard. Casey smirked over the grumbles of ‘how does she get praise for gossiping?’ and ‘I swear to god she’s bribed someone along the line’ from her group of peers. Praise and Casey? Not an uncommon occurrence, and they all knew it.

Louis shook xer head

“Pete sure does have a lot to say about it, I remember when he first asked for my pronouns we got into a really heated discussion about all that shit.” xe eplained

“Why wouldn’t he come to  _ me  _ about his problems; I’m his  _ girlfriend _ after all.” Oh yeah. Kira was there too. A collective sigh floated across the group. Kira was fairly clueless when it came to human consolation, but she hadn’t really seemed to grasp that her field of expertise stretched little further than  _ Mac _ products and 1980’s disco music (yeah, I know). 

“Look, K, Trick thinks you’re great but…” Lucky didn’t really know how to finish her sentence.  _ You’re actually a pretty shitty girlfriend who has been using him over the past couple months for status quo needs and now that his resources are running dry you’re getting bored? _ Nah, maybe not. It was a common known fact in their school that the three month marker in a relationship was a fairly critical time. If they made it past this point it was possible that they would have perhaps a year long, unproblematic relationship, but if not, now would be when they end it. It wouldn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to figure out what the general hoping about this was.

“But _what_? I’m the best thing that’s ever gonna happen to him!” Casey rolled her eyes and settled in for the ride as Kira broke into a squeaking spiel about how good she was and how Patrick needed to appreciate her more.  _ Appreciate you more? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve literally ever heard, like, have you ever even spoken to Patrick? _

“I’m so popular, blah blah blah, his friends are such losers haha no offence guys, blah blah blah, he’s such a burden, blah blah blah, I’m only dating him for Pete, blah blah blah.” Wait. What was that last one? Kira’s soliloquy halted as she notices the five pairs of widened eyes firmly fixed on her. At first, she too looked shocked at herself, but her face set into a more disgusted expression.

“That’s right, you heard me. So what if I don’t even like Patrick? I let him follow me around for the past three months.” Collecting the appalled expressions of her audience only fueled her further, and she ignored Mrs Segal’s request for silence. “Y’know, I’m done being judged by other people about the decisions  _ I make _ .” Kira snapped with finality

“Well when the decisions you make fucking  _ hurt _ other people I think that’s a pretty good reason to  _ judge  _ a person.” Gabe snarled

“Gabriel Saporta could you please be quiet!” despite her best efforts Mrs Segal was ignored

“I’m fucking sick of this. I’m gonna sort this out once and for all," She flicked her hair "and Pete Wentz will totally be dating me by the end of it.” And with that, she got up and walked out of the classroom. Closely followed by Gabe, Lucky, Kira, Louis, and a chorus of “what is going on?” and “get back here at once!”.

Kira tore away from the plethora of hurt, confused, angry, and downright disgusted expressions pursuing her, stopped only when Louis, the fastest of the group, latched a hand onto her school cardigan. She turned, pulling herself up to her full height to face xem

“Kira. Now is the time to explain. Don’t-” Louis’s tone softened as she attempted to free herself “don’t run off again. We want to understand.” Kira sniffed proudly and wriggled away from xem

“There’s no explaining to do. Pete was being... _ difficult  _ about dating me, and when this sad looking transfer kid from Europe came" She shrugged "I saw an easy target.” Casey lunged forward

“That is  _ abominable _ . You have  _ no idea  _ what Patrick’s-” Lucky grabbed Casey’s wrist and shook her head, her eyes saying ' _not right now. Not her'_

“ _ As _ I was saying, Pete needed a little convincing and Patrick was a tool.” She shrugged again, as if people do that kind of thing every day, but the rest of the company rippled with repulsion

“Kira,” Lucky’s eyes were dark, brooding, like Casey had never seen them before “you’d better leave. Right away.” Kira swallowed, unsure, but her eyes flickered down the hallway “ _ Right. Away.” _ Kira was off, immediately, waddling down the hallway as if she was running from a warlock who’d cursed her, and she was unable to run. The group leered after her, too angry to be stunned, only one of them managed to fully grasped the gravity of a situation

“Well, guys,” Lucky said, calm as can be “We’d better find Patrick Stump.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a whole load! Please tell me what you thought!


	13. In Which Pete Dies And Patrick Forgets His Hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so yeah, i feel like i should apologise (as i do every fucking time, way to go, me) but this time i do have an excuse of sorts??? i've been having exams (ughhh) so revision has sucked (but u didn't have exams back in March did u, u twat) but yeah here it is i guess!!!  
> hope u enjoy xx

With that word, Patrick’s hands found Pete's shirt and gripped it like they were playing tug off war with their clothes and dragged them together with equal desperation, again crushing their mouths.

But it was better now. Pete fought back with such serendipity he could hardly control it. His mouth waged war against Patrick’s own artillery, which he was now deploying in interesting forms of nibbling Pete’s bottom lip.

When Patrick pulled off for breath Pete moved his garrisons to the other’s neck and left hot and sticky all over Patrick’s throat, causing him to latch his index finger around Pete’s school tie. When he moved back up, Patrick's mouth was there, waiting to greet Pete with a Thank You For That.

This was so good this was _so good_.

Wait. Hold on. Pete recognised that feeling. Not so good. Liquid heat pooled in his stomach. Um, ok, Patrick???

Little to Pete’s knowledge, Patrick was dealing with some issues of his own

“Pete-” Patrick breathed after wrenching himself away “I- stop.”

In retrospect, Pete knew it was for the better that that didn't lead anywhere else, but that did not stifle the whine of disappointment he omitted, nor the way Patrick’s knees felt a little weak when he did. The two of them locked eyes after a few moments in a lul, and after a few seconds the shorter crossed his hands behind his head and turned from Pete, an expression of utter perplexity written across his ruffled face.

Pete couldn’t move for moment, keeping in the rigid position that had been stuck to Patrick seconds ago. Once he’d somewhat regained control of his limbs (and his libido had calmed down a bit) he had to catch himself from resting a hand on Patrick’s turned shoulder, considering the shock that this poor ex-christian blushing virgin boy would probably be in.

To Pete’s surprise, Patrick swung round unprompted, but sporting a certain look of anguish

“Pete, look, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, it was me who-”

“Sorry” That was both of them. It was also both of them who started giggling. And started to break out into laughter of gradually increasing degrees of hysteria, until somehow they were both pressed against a, almost toppling over, Patrick scrunched into the delightful little ball of laughter he assumed too rarely.

And god.

It was a _relief._ Neither could probably tell you why it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from their atlasic shoulders, but before they knew it Pete’s arms were back around Patrick’s neck and his face was inching closer to the other’s; they were dangerously close to Back At It Again.

“Pete.” Patrick coughed with a half smile that seemed to say _let’s not go there_. Pete took a second to collect himself, then nodded slowly in submission. Despite the sparklers in his chest that were more than likely to put him into cardiac arrest, he rested his forehead to the wall in what could be easily mistaken for cheerlessness.

He sighed heavily with a distinct shake in his breath; Patrick was thinking he wasn’t supposed to see This Part. He felt like she _should_ _go_ , but there was a sonorous part of him that did not want to leave Pete

“Sorry, Wentz...I need to round up my thoughts right now.” Patrick tried, putting a hand on Pete’s slowly rising and falling shoulders. Pete laughed and shook his head against against the plaster at his brow.

“I should be the one consoling you.” He argued Patrick, a hitch in his voice that perhaps only the other boy could’ve noticed

“Hey. Fuck you.” Patrick smiled when Pete met his playful gaze

“I feel like those fucking middle age women who like, cry after sex.” Patrick chuckled and scratched his neck

“We’re not quite there yet.” _yet?? Patrick did you just say you intend to fuck me?? I’ll have you know I’m actually down with that_

“Um, I- I think I gotta take off.” Patrick admitted with a gulp after a second, the break of eye contact painfully noticeable. Pete nodded almost too vigorously, and perhaps enjoyed the little scrunchy smile Patrick tossed him on his way out of the cupboard a little bit more than he should have.

 _I’m such a fucking cliche_ Pete thought to himself with his head in his hands _all I need now is a mini skirt and some knee socks_.

Some ten minutes later, Pete had almost followed Patrick out the door when something grey and soft caught his eye on the floor. He stopped a moment, then stooped to pick up the favourable item and put it on his own heat stained hair;

Patrick had forgotten his hat.

x

“Patrick! Where the fuck have you been?” A woeful little Patrick was assaulted with Casey’s screech to him from down the hallway, alerted so much he almost lost the glasses he was cleaning on his tie to a crushed state on the floor.

He began to ask her what was wrong, feeling _inexplicably_ like he had something to do with the issue, when Gabe emerged from round a corner with “Patrick! You ok? Have you seen Kira?”

“What? What’re you talking about? What’s going on?”

“He clearly doesn’t know about it, we should tell him.” Chimed in Louis who had just like fucking appeared out of nowhere, what the fuck?

Honestly, Patrick was beginning to feel suspiciously like pre-colonial America; a lot of sudden attention from a lot of people, not really knowing what’s going on and frankly wanted none of it, thank you very much.

Just as he was trying to make this point clear, Lucky pushed the rest of the company aside.

“Trick. We’ve been looking for you because we’ve found something out that we need to tell you before you hear it from someone else. It’s...about Kira.” Lucky’s assertive composure calmed Patrick into a cock of his head and a confused frown. The rest of the crowd quietened down too, an air of apprehensive awkwardness hanging about them.

“She told us just ten minutes ago and,” Lucky continued, a little more timid than she had been before “we think she’s looking for you too...to make it worse I mean, when you find out...I mean.”

“Ok this stalling is ridiculous, Patrick, Kira told us that she was only ever dating you...to make Pete want her.” at last, Gabe was like a punch in the gut.

Patrick look like buffering vlog. His face froze up, paused, only to move marginally with a blink or a slight knit of his eyebrows then freeze up again

“N-no, wait, aha, what? You guys are kidding, right?” he finally choked out, not letting himself give up quite yet “What?” he repeated when all he got in response was a company of concerned yet definitive expressions.

When it was clear no one else was gonna say anything, Patrick just fizzled out. Casey had expected him to be angry, aggressive even, but no, he fell back on the lockers behind him and shrunk into a little crevice of shock sadness

“Ah, fuck.” he muttered inwardly as he went down, pointing his cloudy eyes no where but his against-school-rules black converse. Like puppets, the other four went down with him, crouching about him in a reproachful manner, but this only made Patrick try to push away from him further.

_I deserve this I knew it was coming I deserve this I knew it was coming I deserve this I knew it was coming_

“Look, sorry, we won’t crowd you. I know this is hard, Trick, and we're sorry, love. Sorry you had to find out this way, but it’s better than if Kira had told you…” Lucky narrated meekly, standing up.

_I deserve this I knew it was coming_

The others got the message that Patrick probably wanted a little breathing room and stood up too. The others, that is, except for Casey of course, remaining crouched down next to Patrick, looking at him intently while stroking his forearm almost subconsciously.

“Yes, Kira, I need.” Patrick paused and gulped “I should speak to her. If this is true.” Hope wasn’t to be given up yet. A collection of similarly doubtful looks were passed around the group until Louis decided to let Patrick in on the plan

“I’m- I’ll go find her. Tell her we found you.” xe said, again with the reproachful and the doubt. Patrik nodded his ok and Louis tore off down the hall.

_I deserve this I knew it was coming_

“Wait, do you guys think i should go see what Pete makes of this? I mean, he’s involved right? Kira might be with him right now.” _oh god. Yeah, Pete._ a flurry of guilt passed over Patrick like the return of a wave and he shivered slightly, shutting his eyes and sinking even further into himself.

_I'M TERRIBLE I DESERVE THIS_

“Yeah I guess,” Lucky said, shrugging “What lesson is he in now?” when no-one answered, Patrick grimaced and dragged himself into response.

“He’s not...I- he might be on his way to chemistry, I don’t know.” Then finally, with his hands on the sides of his face “near the- round there.” he gestured vaguely in the direction he’d come from.

“Why do you-?” Lucky began to ask “Look nevermind, Gabe go find Pete, and bring him here or something, so we're all together.” Patrick shook his head violently “Ok, or maybe don’t bring him here, whatever.” Lucky called to Gabe as he half ran off down the hall.

Once Gabe had gone, the other two were deathly quiet and Patrick almost wished they weren't. As much as he appreciated the rhythmic stroke on his shoulder, he’d prefer if the others pretended like nothing had happened and went back to treating him like a person.

_I deserve this I knew it was coming_

The more he thought about Ten Minutes Ago With Pete and Blissful Ignorance, the guiltier he felt. This obviously had something to do with that; even if Kira hadn’t said those things, Patrick still totally cheated on her. Twice. _Ffffuuucck._ another arrow of self loathing stuck into the target in Patrick’s chest and expanded his already impressive collection. Chubby. Short. Grumpy. Sure, those were all already firmly in place, but dishonest cheater? That was new.

_I deserve this_

Out of habit, he reached for his hat on his head, but to his surprise he found clumps of greasy hair it it's place. He’d forgotten his hat. Pete had it. Fuck. He’d never be able to wear that again. Or maybe…

“Louis, you find her?”

x

Honestly, Pete was just minding his own business (staring wistfully at Patrick hat in his hands) and didn’t really appreciate being interrupted, especially by an over grown asparagus in a tie

“Pete! Hey, Pete, Petro.” Gabe called, almost urgent as he hopped towards him, too long legs all over the place.

“Oh hey man.” Pete replied quickly, jumping to his feet and stuffing the hat behind his back in the least subtle way possible “Aren’t you meant to be in lessons…?” he asked, knowing full well the same could be said for him

“I need to tell you something.” Gabe smouldered, a little too intense for almost-winter-break

“Oh yeah, me too! You’ll never guess what just happened.”

“Whatever, Pete, this is actually important.”

“Hey, fuck yo-”

“It’s about Patrick, so I’d presume you’d care.” Gabe snapped and snatched the grey hat from Pete’s less than hidden hand, holding it up confrontationally

“Hey, give that back,” Pete frowned, snatching for the hat and trying to hide the fact that he really did care about both the hat and _what had happened to Patrick_ “fuck, Gabe, what’s got your panties in a twist?” he asked finally once he’d gotten the hat back (now on his head, because where else?). Gabe sighed through his teeth and let his aggressive posture falter

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. It's just some innocent little marshmallow and a black haired designer clad bitch.”

Pete’s eyes narrowed.

“What did she do?” He growled. Gabe rarely got all serious like this, and when he did, Pete knew it was for real.

“Welp,” Gabe started, throwing his hands behind his back “she basically told us that the only reason she dated him for _three fucking months_ was to, get this, get _you_ to like her. Yeah, i know. If it was anyone else i’d say that it was bullshit and she doesn’t want to face the truth… but it’s Kira.” Pete’s face set into an expression so severe it was damn near scary; it was at times like this he looked very like his mother

“Where is she.” It was more of a statement than a question, and Gabe intercepted the implied violence before it could become an issue.

“No, no. You can’t just go and punch her in the face, it doesn’t work like that Pete, you should've learned since fifth grad. Besides, your finger’s barely healed.” Pete cast him a threatening look “And we don’t know where she is.”

Pete slumped and let out a hiss of a sigh

“Who is this ‘we’, anyway?”

“Um, me, Louis, Lucky, and Casey...and Patrick,” Gabe added in response “um yeah, Patrick he’s- he’s not too good, but ok. I think he...deals with shit a lot.” Pete frowned, not really knowing what Gabe meant, but deciding to leave it for now

“Where is he? I want to- I need to go see him.”

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea…” and for a moment it was like Gabe already knew everything that’d happened after the tie grabbing incident - watching Pete getting dragged away, Patrick knowing where Pete would be, the hat now resting unflatteringly on Pete’s messy bangs. But to be honest, Gabe just sort of always knew.

“What do you mean? Did he say anything?” Pete asked quickly

“Not exactly…” Gabe responded. Pete began to question him some more, but Gabe stopped him with “What were you going to tell me, before, when I just came?” He was playing a more tactical game now, part changing the subject, part finding out the full story. Gabe was very good at this kind of thing, and his tiny best friend fell for it every time

“Uhm...it’s not that important now.” after finding out what he had just found out, Pete thought it’d be wise to keep the whole incident to himself (...for now) but Gabe clearly didn’t agree. With a look, Pete was spilling his guts

“We kind of made out. In the lost property cupboard." Wow, ok, now that he’d said it aloud it became a little more real. Had they? Woooow. No wonder Pete was trying to hide a grin as he told Gabe

“You did? Fuck man, that could be bad!” Gabe was considerably more concerned by this than Pete “How did that even happen? Is that what he dragged you away for?”

“No, no, he dragged me because he thought we needed to talk about the first time...and then…” there was that smile again. But it was not maintained for long. The concern Gabe shot at him made him really assess the situation.

Patrick would feel so much guilt for this; there was no way he’d let something like this slide under the radar while going through a breakup. God, he’d be tearing himself up over this. Blaming himself, blaming Pete, blaming everything on his repressed urges and stress leading him to then revert back to christianity and become a hermit in the south most point of America. What had Pete been thinking?

“Well, did he say anything about Kira before hand? Like they weren’t so hot at the moment?” apart from very briefly, Patrick really hadn’t mentioned Kira, she’d been forgotten along with the socks and trackpants still littering the cupboard now.

This being said, Pete could still have told you about two weeks ago that the happy couple were not so happy and, as of now, not so couple.

He told Gabe so, who lacked a response beyond a despairing frown.

“Fuck, Gabe, do you know how torn up he’ll be over this? I need to see him.” Pete announced, worry starting to make him frustrated

“Yes, I do know ‘how torn up he’ll be over this’,” Gabe retorted, finger quotes and all “I saw him when he found out, and I think he’d be a little torn up whether you’d just sucked his face or no.”

Pete’s face screwed up

“You aren’t being fair y’know Gabe, you’re acting like I don’t know anything about anything and that I don’t even care. How could you _possibly_ know more in this situation than me, It’s not like you and him are best buddies, y’know.”

“I fucking feel like I am! He’s all you ever goddamn talk about! Oh, and yourself; you’re one of the most self-centered asshats I’ve ever met!” Gabe damn near shouted, sticking his index finger right in Pete’s face

“That’s rich coming from you, asshole.” Pete retaliated, batting away the hand in his face.

He stopped for a second “wait, wait, wait...did you just call me an asshat?” Gabe fought a twitch at his mouth

“Yeah, maybe…”

Pete started smiling with twice the reluctance

“Fuck. That’s brutal. You got me there.” he admitted.

“Boom. Fuck yeah I did.” Gabe smiled, pretending to shoot Pete in the chest with his finger pistols, who complied well and proceeded to “die” on the ground.

And honestly?

That’s the way it always goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you!!! tell me what you thought!


	14. In Which Pete's Irrelevant and Patrick is Traumatized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again ahaha I'm awful you're allowed to say it, forgive me for my lack of posting, I can't say I'm going to fix it though because that would be a lie. I do think that I am coming to the end of this fic though!! exciting right. Enjoy :)

Patrick held Alf’s hand on the way home, as always, took him and his other brothers to get crepes, just like every other last day of school. He made polite banter with the woman preparing their food, standing all bundled up in scarves and winter inside the small metal food cart. He frowned sportingly when Spencer proudly announced he had a party that evening and scolded Alf for kicking the pigeons.

He didn’t mention anything that had happened that day, nor did he really want to, instead chatting amiably about what the holidays might have in store.

As the four of them were walking back to the house, Patrick began to feel something. For the first time in his life, Patrick thought he almost understood his father.

 

It started when Patrick was fifteen. 

His mum’s work were temporarily transferring her to a number of posts in europe over a black treacle summer, and she gladly decided to make it into a holiday for the four boys in her life. Dad was working as a full time teacher at the local catholic school, and agreed to go along with the bright eyes holiday since he wouldn't be working anyway. 

Their first destination was france, and Patrick eagerly packed all his guide books and phrase books into his bag (and his brain) like the budding linguist he was. 

The country lived up to every expectation Patrick could have. So did italy, and portugal, and spain, even the four hour car journeys and brief airplane intervals seemed mystical and novelty. No amount of mosquitos and cardboard brean could take away the wonder of the quite alien world that was only 8 hours away from his suburban den in chicago.

That’s not to say that things weren’t starting to get hard by the time the end of august rolled round; mum’s work was taking its toll, and especially on Alf.

The truth was, Alf wasn’t really the same as his brothers. At age five he was diagnosed autistic, quite severely, and his mental growth basically wouldn’t continue past the age of about seven. He was all about method, and order, and things done the same one day as they were the next.

It wasn’t that Patrick loved him any less for it, if anything Alf was his prefered brother, but he just tended to...not tell people. 

If you asked him about it, he’d get all huffy and tell you there’s nothing to it and snap “why should i  _ have _ to tell people?” it wasn’t like he had many  _ friends _ round to his house, anyway, why couldn’t he just keep it secret?

As was probably imaginable, all the moving around and lack of six days a week special needs school was starting to get to Alf. Besides, this was his first summer without the care worker, Lisa, and everyone was glad to be back in the chicago suburbs by the time school rolled back round. 

Everyone except Patrick, who had his mind set on going straight back to the countries they’d missed next year the minute they got off the plane.

All he spoke about was “greece!” “germany!” and even “asia!”, avidly studying new languages and learning about cultures.

But David didn’t want any part of it. In that new year, he had become a pastor and joined the church. He told his son many times that they just didnt have enough money to go back with the whole family, especially when it wasn’t for his mother’s work.

Patrick persisted, saying it was his dad’s fault that they were poor and how he shouldn’t have been so selfish and it was “his dream” to visit Europe again.

David was bent against it, but his wife, the angel she was, had an immense soft spot for her oldest son finally agreed to take him to greece, just the two of them, for a week in July.

Now, Laura Stumpf was a beautiful woman, even in her late thirties she could have been mistaken for someone in their mid twenties, and you certainly wouldn’t think she’d had four children. She was relentlessly kind but kindly stern when she had to be, and she was the whole world to her family. So that July the two of them packed off back to the medeteranian, much to the dismay of Alf and Patrick couldn’t help feeling a little bad for his brother

Patrick couldn’t remember why they’d decided to go to Athens or how they’d ended up in a dusty hotel on a coble stone needle street

In fact he couldn’t really remember anything surrounding that summer.

There was just one memory in his head, and when he thought about it it was like his mind hand put on glasses.

It was the second to last night of the trip, and Patrick had just about nailed the greek alphabet, demonstrating his skills to his mum over dinner. 

Patrick remembered Laura chuckling one of her for-my-son laughs, and Patrick had grinned, the sound making him feel like he was home and safe. Laura had nodded happily once Patrick reached omega, and excused herself to the bathroom. 

Patrick remembered repeatedly looking at his roman numeral watch he’d bought the previous summer, and nervously looking around the candle lit restaurant when his mum didn’t come back after five, ten, fifteen minutes. 

After twenty, Patrick struggled a fee out of his backpack and left it on the table, giving into the clawing feeling in his hummus filled tummy to scamper away.

There was no response to his call from the hall outside the bathroom, and no one inside when Patrick finally convinced himself to go into the ladies’. Frowning, he’d followed a door marked with a yield sign at the other end of the room, who’s slight crack invited him outside.

Holding both the handle and his breath, Patrick had stepped out into the temperate Grecian air and right in front of a car.

Well, almost. His adidas trainers pulled him back just in time to see the badly scratched red pick up whistle past his nose.  _ You’re in danger _ his bloodrate told him squished back against the crumbled restuarant.

With a gulp, he half wondered if the same had happened to his mother, but shook the thought from his head and stepped away from the door. 

He called out for her. 

And again. 

When he didn’t get a response the third time he shut his welling eyes and turned to go back into the restaurant.

Just as he touched the dry grease handle he’d heard a noise, or thought he had (maybe he made it up?). 

A muffled call? A sharp intake of breath? 

Blinking back tears in relife Patrick squinted into the dark and tripped forward to where he thought the noise had come from, making sure to keep his hand on the wall next to him.

After about five meters the wall stopped and came to a turn away from the road.

An alley.

Fumbling to turn the torch on on his phone, Patrick lit up the thread of a street.

This was the part where his head started to hurt, where every time he played the incident out in his head, he couldn’t tell if he regretted his choice to light the alley or not. Would it have made it easier? Would he have hated himself even more? All he knew, was that he’d lead himself to the most horrific thing he’d ever seen.

It was his mother. 

She had a dirty white rag over her mouth, and her hands were being held firmly behind her back by a camo covered greek man who’s whole body looked like a callous. Half her ponytail had been torn out and was paired with scrapes all over her face. Her shirt and bra had been torn or cut off and she was badly bruised. Her wrists and shoulders mostly, but it was allarming to see the how green and black human flesh could become. She had several gushing cut marks on her torso, blood trickling down to her arms and skirt to stain. 

There was another man too, taller, and this one facing her straight on, his face barely and inch from hers. 

His right hand was holding an already dripping switch blade to her throat and his left was gripping her breast like it was a stress ball. 

Patrick remembered the way all three pairs of eyes had flashed in his torch light, like bunnies on the road when you’re driving through the countryside at night. He remembered the shock becoming a grin on the taller mans face as he registered Patrick’s appearnce. 

He remembered a pinch of anger as the man clearly assessed him as no threat, just because he was small.

He remembered a lump of something in his throat and feeling like the world was crumbling around him after he’d pressed the wrong button to save it.

He remembered  _ not fucking moving _ and not being able to do anything but stare into a pair of bloodshot eyes and hold his phone up to them like the fucking moronic coward he was.

But most of all, he remembered his mother’s face.

Desperation was leaking from the corners of her swollen eyes, leaving a twinkle the a silver dollar you might find in the sad. The blood tracing down her kind teeth, clamped around the rag and grunting desperately to Patrick as he stood there, watching. Her cheeks were taught and lined by a dimple. He gulped bile, watching a crusty finger touch the damp tear trail with sadistic softness

Patrick stood, and blood exploded from his mother’s neck. 

A hand, a blade, a swift motion, a neck, and her body, sagging. 

She lay there, and Patrick stared like she was an ending to a story he’d only just started, it had been ruined for him and now he knew what happened in the end. He’d wanted to read the last page before the first one and now regret was the only emotion he’d ever felt in his life, or ever would feel again.

 

He didn’t remember telling his dad, or the extra days he’d had to spend in greece to waiting for another flight home. 

He didn’t remember talking to the police or not being able to eat or Alf’s tantrums or therapy every single day of the summer. 

He didn’t notice when school started and none of his brothers went back to school, nor his father fleeing to the church every time there was an argument to cry and pray.

He was empty. 

The only things Patrick had was emptiness, images, and self blame. 

And the last one still stays, the second sometimes crawling into his bed on cold evenings.

By the time Patrick didn’t feel empty anymore it was christmas. 

This was when he’d started to notice things were getting different. Not the obvious different, the  _ wherethefuckismymother _ different, but the kind of  _ mother?whatareyoutalkingaboutyou’veneverhadoneofthose _ different. The stunned silence and raised eyebrows every time there was a flavour of Lauren in the family’s conversation followed by the transferal of photos into draws and return of Alf’s carer. 

David was the worst, it was almost like he’d forgotten her completely, acting like nothing had ever happened. The sad thing was, Patrick could see how torn apart he was, through his light hearted jokes and “I’m gonna learn how to cook! And fix a sink!”. He was trying to convince himself to forget, and Patrick had never understood why until now.

 

Patrick felt that way too, at last. There was a period of crippling sadness, showering in what had happened and allowing yourself misery, then just. 

Leave it. 

It didnt happen. 

Forget.

Fuck, he was disgusting. 

No one should act that way, it was pathetic and Patrick was gonna make a change. 

To come clean to himself, he’d need to come clean to someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! Please tell me what you think


	15. In Which Pete Does Some Washing Up and Patrick Gets Emotional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh...don't shoot meee....or do cause im a shit person at keeping this crap updated.  
> Anyways i hope you enjoy the chapter, we're almost at the end!!

“Dad, we’re home.” Karl grunted as the four of them walked through the front door. David appeared from the kitchen, smiling and rubbing his hands on a dish cloth.

“Hey boys, good days?” (David didn’t like to talk about the ‘last day’ cause Alf was still at school until much later in the month.)

Patrick brother’s all nodded in agreement, before disbanding to their respective teenage activities, Alf murmuring “homework, homework, homework” to himself, even though he never had any.

Patrick was the last man standing at the door, stock still looking at his father.

“Are you alright, Patrick? You look a bit..” David stopped “Stoic.”

“Dad, we’re gonna talk about something.” Patrick stated in response, stony eyed.

“Uhh...yeah, of course, son,” David looked to see the other boys had gone on, then with a  _ Spencer, keep an eye on Alf  _ he turned back to Patrick.

“What’s on your mind?” David was clearly quite surprised at Patrick’s insistency they talk, especially considering the two of them hadn’t spoken for almost a whole week.

“ _ Dad.” _ Patrick repeated as if his father wasn’t understanding the situation

“What? What is it? Am I meant to kn-?”

“I wanna talk about mom.”

 

x

 

“Well, what do you think I should do? Do I call him?”

“Pete, I’ve told you, no. He needs space! He was so fragile when he left today he doesn’t need you to come and fuck his brain up even more, ok? Just leave him alone for a bit.”

“But Gabe that’s  _ why! _ I want to know how he’s doing!” at this, Gabe scowled in Pete’s direction “I want him to know he can talk to me…” Gabe laughed, short and forced, walking down the steps in front of Pete’s house.

“Trust me Pete. There’s nothing you can do right now. If he needs you, he’ll tell you. If I were you I’d come to the kickin’ party Joe Alorio is throwing tonight, but I know you won’t, so just sit on your tight ass ‘til lover boy comes to you, ok? Trust me, Leave it.”

“Fuck you Gabe!”

Pete frowned as he watched Gabe depart from his house. Trusting a Saporta wasn’t always the smartest thing to do and Pete was a sucker for scepticism. But as he shut his front door he wondered whether just this time Gabe could almost be right.

 

x

 

“Oh...Patrick, I see…” David turned his face away from his son slowly. He’d been expecting something light years less heavy; David didn’t know if he was prepared to delve into that tin-foil wrapped part of him

“No, Dad, we need to talk about this.” Patrick had already made his decision. He wasn’t asking. “Kira broke up with me today” Patrick ignored both the slight sting as he admitted this to himself and the sympathetic response his father offered.

“I don’t see how this relates to...your mother…” David allowed after his condolences, a statement Patrick appreciated because David clearly wasn’t eager to bring the topic back up again.

“Allow me to explain.” 

Sitting together on the couch, Patrick explained to his dad everything that had happened, starting from the beginning and sparing no detail. Emotions were expected, but Patrick hadn’t allowed for the weepy breaks his dad had to take. 

Still, Patrick was unperturbed and so focused on relaying the message he only realised he was crying when the tears dribbled into his active mouth. 

Patrick explained about how he felt after Kira, and how he knew David had felt for almost a handful of years. To his surprise, he got a very positive, apologetic response from his father. “Oh, Rick.” was all he kept muttering, a confession of a guilty man.

It was a very sobering sight; Patrick had never seen a grown man reduced to this much outside of a movie, let alone his own father. Watching the almost mirror image of himself, curled so small and vulnerable, it slowly dawned on Patrick that maybe he wasn’t the only one who missed her. Maybe he hadn’t loved her the most. Maybe he wasn’t the only one with three dimensional feelings and maybe...maybe Kira wasn’t the end of the world. 

Words and words and words kept falling out of him until he wasn’t even sure what he was talking about anymore, only that if he said enough he’d reach a point eventually.

“And Dad, I’m so sorry for everything. I’m so, so sorry and I’m so grateful and I think what I’m saying is that mum’s gone but it’s ok because she’d be proud of us and she’d be proud of you and I think what I’m trying to say is that we miss her ‘cause she gave us so much but it’s ok because we can do it on our own and even though we love her we’re still good people and even though the choices we make might be - be a bit shitty it's ok because we’re good people and the decisions we make come from our souls and I love you, dad, and I really hope you love me because I think what I’m trying to tell you is, well what I think I’m saying is that, well dad, I think I love a boy.”

The two of them stared at each out, both silently working out what had just been said.  _ Well that’s new... _ Patrick told his psyche, which responded somewhat indignantly with stuffy memories of earlier.  _ Ah...that’s right _ . 

There was a moment of nothing, then a sharp moment of “of  _ course _ ” because, well,  _ of course _ .

Pete. It had always been him. 

His eyes. 

His hands. 

Pete’s hair and his cinnamon breath.

_ Of course it was Pete _ . 

Even when it had been Kira it was also Pete at the same time. A dizzying blur of romance and dumb questions and dark on pale skin. 

Ironic, the one that they both wanted all along.

Patrick slowly looked at his shaking fingers, wanting almost to lift them to his mouth to find the taste of printer ink and cloven marble still draped across them. 

When his eyes returned upward his father was still quiet. He was quiet for a long while. 

Patrick was all too familiar with this in himself and wisely didn’t speak didn’t move didn’t breathe until

“Patrick.” David sounded like he was talking through treacle “If you are sure.” There was a pause so Patrick inclined his head yes 

“Then I understand.” 

David moved his hand to his son’s shoulder, his eyes finishing off his response for him. Everything was mushy except the pressure on his shoulder and his heart.

Somehow in that moment Patrick was filled with so much love. More than he’d felt since everything happened with his mother; he felt like a balloon, filled with the first puff of air; Expanding from a state of deflation.

Patrick knew it was wrong. He knew that something like this could break people. Challenging a way of life for someone you love out of selfishness and yet…

Patrick was abundantly aware the only thing in his stomach should be guilt and remorse but he couldn’t help the love bubbling from his heart to his stomach. The knowledge that his father, who all Patrick’s life had reinforced hatred and disdain towards anything but a straight, monogamous, relationship, was telling Patrick he understood.

 

x

 

Pete crushed the stress ball in his fist, stubby nails digging into the firm foam and ripping the red layer on the outside. He’d never noticed how uncomfortable this couch was, or how much shouting sounded like little drills into his head. And he was only just noticing now how much he hated to be put in a draw marked “for later use”

Pete wasn’t even sure he could bring himself to pacify his mother with an “I understand” but somehow his tongue managed it for him, teaming up with his legs to get him off the couch and to the sink. Washing up was easy, harder was putting his phone to the side. For the past hour Pete had been routinely checking his phone for messages on any and all social media platform known to man for messages from Patrick (even though Pete was pretty sure he was the only one who still had Myspace.)

Harder still was not shooting himself through the head when after twenty minutes of washing and drying and putting away picking up his phone and reading

 

**Missed call:** Trickster (3)

 

Pete slapped himself in the forehead before slamming call and listening to the ring tone shave his brain cells.

“Pete?” Oh shit. Pete knew that voice. That was the I'm-Vulnerable-and-Thinking-Of-Doing-Something-Stupid voice.

“Oh jeez, Patrick are you alright? I never saw you after school today. I heard abo-”

“I need you to come over.” Pete's heart skipped a beat. In fact he wasn’t entirely sure how many beats his heart skipped, only he knew it started beating again when his converse slammed into contact with the tarmac.

He barely even experienced grabbing his jacket and yelling a swift farewell to his mother. Pete hadn’t even snatched his headphones out of his blazer pocket; it wasn’t like Metallica could top the three words that had just hummed through him.

_ Fuck you Gabe. He needs me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much!!


End file.
